Lady of Serpents
by Star-Of-Radiance
Summary: Power is both exhilarating- and dangerous. Over fifty years ago, she learned fear, frustration, desperation, then ambition, envy, rage and hatred- even for her own family. Now she remembers the tale and holds the secret to a horrifying story of regret- and potentially the Dark Lord's demise. (Part One of the Dragon's Child series.) [Not your typical Tom Riddle/OC romance]
1. Chapter 1

_**"Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to separate and integral interests. To regret deeply is to live afresh." **_

_**Henry David Thoreau**_

* * *

The woman stared waiting outside until the boy came with the Headmaster. An aged wizard, tall and thin with twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles and a long hair and beard, and a young student, also thin with startling emerald-green eyes also behind spectacles- this time round- and with dismayingly untidy black hair. She could smile at not only the contrast but the similarities.

But this was no doubt, the Boy who Lived. The son of Lily and James.

She owed him this.

Wearily, she closed her eyes until she was sure they were in the room. She stood to greet them.

Harry started. The woman in front was astounding in many ways. The first thing he noticed was her beauty. She was very pale, her skin the colour of finest white milk, and equally smooth, which was a stark contrast to her hair- a lustrous deep black, like a river of polished obsidian, and it even looked like liquid, with a headpiece of white beads woven in. She was also richly dressed; in a black coat with a thick cloak made of black feathers- hundreds of them- and strawberry-red boots with silver embroidery.

Harry was puzzled. What was the reason for Dumbledore taking him here? And who was this woman.

"Ah, Lady Athelinda," Dumbledore greeted warmly. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way."

"Hardly," the lady replied. Her eyes fixed on Harry; a black like shining jet. Her features were exquisitely delicate and reminded Harry of a snowflake. He felt suddenly shabby and untidy next to this witch and wished at least that he'd followed Hermione's example and used Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

The lady walked over slowly, not once taking her eyes off Harry. He felt even more uneasy, not knowing what this woman wanted from him.

"This is the boy?" she asked softly. "No, please don't answer that. I don't need to see the scar to find out and I trust that you won't bring me anyone using Polyjuice Potion, although that Death Eater was particularly successful in fooling everyone."

"Yes," Dumbledore said heavily. He did not deny it.

The woman- Athelinda, kept her eyes on Harry once again, before turning. "Please," she gestured with a delicate white hand to the comfortable-looking sofa. Harry felt relieved. After nearly an hour walking in the cold after apparition (Dumbledore had refused to use magic to transport them directly to here), he was happy to sit and see a roaring fire.

Two crystal goblets floated towards Harry and Dumbledore and immediately filled with honey-coloured liquid. "Mead," Athelinda murmured, without even looking at them. "Oak-matured, Madam Rosmerta's. I hope you'll enjoy." She sat down.

Harry took the glass and felt the sweet rush of liquid filling his mouth as well as the rush of warmth that came after.

"Now," she said after they had drunk their fill. "To business, then Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You know yourself, what you have volunteered."

She closed her eyes. "I know," she said heavily. "But please believe me when I say, that after more than fifty years of keeping silent, it is still far from easy to speak it all."

Harry was startled. Fifty years? This woman couldn't have been more than thirty.

Dumbledore sighed. "Well then, may I suggest that you start at the beginning? It's a good place as any."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "Er-professor, you didn't exactly-"

"Oh," Dumbledore momentarily looked startled then amused. "My dear boy, surely you must know what the pattern of this particular lesson would be, based on all the previous lessons you've gleaned?"

Harry was confounded. "Well… I thought sir, that…"

Dumbledore shook his head, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. But then he grew serious.

"Perhaps it would be better for the lady Athelinda to be the one to tell you."

"First things first," the lady said. Her black eyes sharpened. "Tell me what happened that night."

Harry recoiled. He knew what she was talking about. She shook her head.

"I know what it is that makes you wish to forget it," she said. "But the things that I am about to tell you are no less painful and traumatic for me. Your bear shame for Cedric Diggory, and you were not even to blame. I bear shame for many things- and although he never branded me, I shall never escape the danger, the guilt, the shame and the pain that I shall always carry with me to the grave."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. "Professor- what's going on?"

"Calm, Harry please," Dumbledore sighed. "This is going to be much more difficult than any sane being can imagine."

Harry was about to say something, but closed his mouth again. In front of them, the lady, Athelinda regarded them quietly, her eyes filled with an emotion which seemed haunted.

"Your pain for mine, Harry Potter," she whispered. "And then I shall reveal the secrets not even Death Eaters know."

Startled Harry looked at Dumbledore. The look he received

Bracing himself, Harry began to tell the story of the Third Task, the death of Cedric Diggory and Voldemort's revival.

All the while she watched, emotionless, save for a single tear that rolled from her eye.

"So he really is back," she whispered, putting her head in her hands.

"Did you doubt me in the least?" Dumbledore asked.

She gave a harsh laugh. "No, but…" she pressed her lips together. "Only he would have come up with magic as twisted and foul as this."

Harry felt a chill down his spine. "You know him?"

"I thought I knew him," Athelinda looked up. "And then I woke up with a slap to the face and got to know the monster behind the man."

Harry couldn't move. "Does this mean…" he remembered something she said. "You knew him," he stated. "Fifty years ago."

"Fifty-four years ago, that was when I met him," she corrected. "I was in Hogwarts with him."

Harry couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He could sense himself getting excited.

She took a deep breath and sighed. "Yes," she said softly. "Pain for pain. I only ask- no, I _beg_ for one thing."

"What?" Harry asked, momentarily distracted and alarmed.

"That before you judge me, listen and hear my story," she whispered. "As I've said, I have more reason to be ashamed, then you. I may not have been branded with that sign, but Tom Riddle has left his mark in my heart and soul."

Harry didn't know what to say.

"Now hear my story."


	2. Chapter 2

**_"My satisfaction comes from my commitment to advancing to a better world."_**

**_Faye Wattleton_**

* * *

_29 August 1942…..._

Her eyes snapped open in the middle of the night.

Her mother was shaking her, trying desperately to wake her.

Athelinda sat up in bed, and abruptly got out. She knew what was happening. She didn't have to ask.

The almost-fifteen-year old girl leapt up, hastily pulling on the dressing-gown her mother handed to her and her slippers.

In the other room a child screamed. "I'll get her," her eldest brother replied. He ran out of the room. Her mother screamed, "Be careful!" their home shook.

This was no Muggle Air-raid. This was Grindelwald's forces dropping explosives themselves unto civilian houses in Britain.

Next door, the child screamed again. Just nine years of age (though she was nearly ten), it terrified her every time their home shook.

An explosion sounded yet again, and green light exploded in a flash outside their windows. They were running out of time.

Athelinda and her mother ran out of her room. Her eldest brother ran as well, holding their little sister by her arm. Her second older brother's face was white as a ghost.

Knocking the door to the cellar open, the House-elf Winny ushered them all in, before her mother pulled her in as well. Their doors shut. Athelinda shrieked.

"I forgot my text-book!"

Her second brother did what was later known as a double-take. Her family stared at her in shock. Athelinda rose, lunged for the door, fiddling with the locks while her mother screamed, "Athelinda, _no_!" She rushed forwards to scramble and grab her arm, but the girl would not be dissuaded. She pulled her arm out of her mother's grasp, while her brother shouted, "Are you _insane_?!"

This was her potions text-book. She already kept her other text-books in the cellar which now doubled as a bunker.

She ran upstairs, and managed to grab the text-book- it was on a tea-table- to run down, before another explosion sounded.

Her brother, Rhaegar, grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly in.

He was always like that. And he slammed the door shut and locked it before another explosion came.

* * *

Three days later saw their return to Hogwarts. Unlike the Muggle children who were sent away to the country (where Muggles thought they would be safe), whom they posed as in the station, These children were returning to school, where they undoubtedly would be safe.

Athelinda was bundled in coats and wraps, so much clothing she felt stifled. Her sister clutched her mother's hand. She insisted on coming along to say good-bye. She would start Hogwarts soon enough.

Her second brother, Willamar looked resigned. But Rhaegar stood determined and poised, like a falcon or a lion, ready for combat.

Her mother held them close. "Take care," she whispered. "I know you'll be safe."

Athelinda nodded. Her brothers picked up their trunks. It was time to board the train.

After crossing the barrier, she saw the new train- it gleamed red and gold, the colours of Gryffindor, she thought, almost smirking. But her smirk was wiped off her face when she remembered where this thing had come from. It was a Muggle device that took the biggest concealment charm ever performed in Britain- not to mention countless memory charms- that was required to make this Muggle invention to be turned into something wizards and witches could use.

Only Athelinda could see it: Wizarding society worldwide was going into decline.

Now Muggles have learnt to fly- and they barely had any ground-breaking innovations for themselves. And they had to modify Muggle inventions, instead of making one of their own. How shameful is that?

Unhappy with this line of thought, Athelinda boarded the train.

She could hear boys and girls arguing and accusing each other of taking their things. Boys and girls showed off new pets, owls hooted and cats hissed when they were discontent. Parents and students alike all fussed and made sure that their trunks were in place and once again checked that they had packed everything. Parents hugged their children. Children who normally would have fussed about being smothered, hugged them back, aware that their homes might not be standing, nor their parents present, the next time they came home. Normally students would be gushing about the things they did over the holidays, but now there was no real cheerfulness. No joy. No excitement. Only a great deal of hope- and fear.

Athelinda loaded her trunk in the compartment. She sat down and sullenly changed into her uniform. Then she went on patrol...

As the new Slytherin prefect.

She could hear the others arguing about this and that. She knew full well who the other Slytherin Prefect was. Griselda Penrose the other Slytherin prefect, had resigned due to something Athelinda never even bothered to find out. What her fellow students' personal problems were, she never bothered to find out; it was none of her business.

But Tom Riddle was there. She caught him conversing with another student- a trouble-maker, she realised in disgust. A trouble-maker named Lestrange.

She didn't know what they were talking about- it didn't look like Riddle was telling him off for something-or-other. But she didn't care to find out. As previously mentioned; it was none of her business, and she had other things to do.

She didn't even bother to glance their way.

Rhaegar stood with the Head Girl. Her brother had previously been named Head Boy, much to the pride of the entire family. Athelinda hoped she could continue that pride someday.

Glancing quizzically at her, he excused himself and went over to her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she replied.

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I am fine, Rhaegar. Believe me when I say so."

He shook his head and sighed. "Being prefect is a responsibility. And I thought you should know what happened to Griselda Penrose before the stories start spreading."

She scoffed. "Really. I don't pay the least bit attention to those stories, Rhaegar, you know I never listen to gossip." she sniffed.

For the first time, Rhaegar- who prior to his appointment as Head Boy had been Gryffindor Prefect- wondered if his sister was truly suited to the role. No, he didn't doubt her qualifications. He knew she was one of the best students in the school, possibly one of the best Hogwarts had ever taught. And she would preform her duties immaculately but there was the problem of her not really paying attention to what the students were really doing. What if they were up to mischief and it was too late to solve the problem because Athelinda didn't care to find out beforehand? She was too interested in her studies than in poking her nose around. That _was_ a good thing- but a prefect had to sniff out mischief before it needed solving.

"Well I think you need to know, anyway," Rhaegar said. "Griselda needs to concentrate in finding some place to live."

For the first time, Athelinda was startled. "You mean her house was destroyed?" Rhaegar shook his head.

"No," he admitted. "She was a half-blood. Her mother disappeared when she was young and her father never really knew she was a witch. And he didn't know Griselda was one either."

Athelinda was stunned. How could a father not know his own daughter was a witch?

"The ministry, the school and even Griselda kept it a secret," Rhaegar explained. "Her father comes from a very conservative family- for Muggles, that is. Fanatically religious. They believe that even practising 'sorcery'- reading false tarot cards and fake crystal balls, as they thought that was what it meant- was an abomination, and blasphemy. So naturally when her father found out..."

Athelinda felt the first chills of dread creep up her slender form.

"Wait a minute," she interjected. "How did she manage to keep it from him this entire time?"

Rhaegar took a deep breath. "Everyone told him she had been accepted to a private Christian school, somewhere in Northumberland." Athelinda was speechless.

"So he found out," he continued. "And when he did she was promptly kicked out. Professor Dumbledore is helping her, but it looks like that she is mostly on her own, save for him."

Athelinda was speechless. "She was a good student," she whispered. "And a good prefect." She looked heatedly up at her brother. "She helped many students. I assumed that she resigned because she had too much work to do."

Her brother shook his head. "She didn't."

"You're in charge of Slytherin now," he said. "Along with Tom Riddle. I know it's not my house, but I can't help worrying about everyone. It's not a happy time, Athelinda."

Indeed it wasn't.

With that final thought, Rhaegar went back to his previous conversation with the Head Girl. Athelinda shook her head.

Times could be better.

She dreamed it would be. But she wanted to take part in it- to make the world a better place herself.

The train hooted and Athelinda went on patrol, asserting her new-found authority on the Hogwarts students.

She would make things change.

She was going to.

* * *

The Hogwarts beginning-of-term feast was marked by a series of noted that made everyone miserable:

Firstly, Hogsmeade visits would be cancelled until 'further notice'.

Playing Quidditch outside was banned- so Quidditch matches and practices were all banned.

Students were not allowed outside of school grounds.

Letters and packages were to be given over for inspection.

Parents and guardians were being notified of this.

And lastly they would have compulsory duelling practice.

Only the last part seemed to gain any enthusiasm. Groans and looks of disgust were exchanged. Athelinda popped a chocolate treat into her mouth and glanced at Dumbledore, the transfiguration teacher. His normally cheerful face was somber.

And they had already started rationing, so even Hogwarts had little to give in its 'feasts'.

The Armed forces- both Muggle and Wizards- were making their next move. And she knew this because her father was one of them.

Let the aurors handle everything in Britain- the armed forces would do the _real _work.

Eyes cold, she rose after the feast to guide the first-years to their dormitories and common rooms.

This was not going to be an easy year.

* * *

The dungeons may seem cold and dank but once inside the Slytherin common room, the place always seemed to cheer Athelinda.

It was a little formal, but she liked it. And she was used to it enough to see it as her home; even with the unusual artefacts like ancient skulls and ancient silver instruments decorating the place. It was grand, it was cold, it was mysterious and that was the way she liked it. Some people even pretended it was a mysterious underwater ship-wreck. She smiled at that.

The first-year students were gazing wide-eyed around the place. Low-hanging green lamps glowed and the furniture were made of dark wood up holstered in green and black. Tapestries, including a rather grand one featuring Merlin, hung on the rock walls and the sofas were dark green or black button-tufted leather. She sighed in delight.

She was home.

Home where the mysteries and secrets of the past were kept. Home where the Great Salazar trained Merlin to be the most powerful sorcerer in history. Home where mysteries in magic were discovered and young minds reared to be great. Or at least they used to be.

The smile slid off Athelinda's face.

"The password changes every fortnight," she announced. She pointed to a board. "Make sure you read it at the appointed time, or else you would be stuck outside unless someone is kind enough to let you in." she gestured with her head to Tom Riddle.

"Boys dormitory is that way," he announced, pointing his long-fingered hand. "For girls, it's this way. All your belongings have been transported there, and you have each been assigned a four-poster bed, make sure you sleep on the right one- all your belongings are placed at the foot of your bed."

They each took turns telling the students the rules and regulations, the head of the house- Professor Slughorn- the procedures for boring things like laundry, the bathrooms and so forth. Timetables would be handed out at breakfast tomorrow. WhereWhat the wanted to do if they had laundry. What time breakfast, lunch and dinner would be served. How much recreation time they had. All those things Athelinda dutifully told the Slytherin first-years and any idiot who had been to Hogwarts for some time but chose to forget.

She then spent some time telling students off, making sure they were complying with school rules, banning items that were forbidden, making sure to write to their parents and report them to Slughorn or Headmaster Dippet if necessary, all the while scowling to herself that she still needed to look at her astronomy chart again. If it was possible she would re-do it. She could always do better, she knew she could, and she would take every opportunity to do so.

She guessed Slughorn didn't take much time choosing the new prefect either, she thought as she entered Griselda's former room- the prefect room where the female prefect slept.

The four-poster bed was ancient, ornately-carved and hung with green silk and silver trimmings. It was furnished with dark walnut and maple and had an ebony bedside table and wardrobe. The room was very spacious.

Athelinda hastily rummaged through her text-books and found her chart. Waving her wand, she erased everything and sat down at her desk to do everything again. When she was finished she was satisfied- for a while.

Sighing, she sorted through her text-books and re-did every piece of homework. They were not bad, but she knew she could exceed everything she had done. And she read the new text-books _again_, just to be sure. She wrote notes, and made corrections. Time was too valuable. She could gain so much more.

Erasing, making notes, writing on parchment- she had brought _mountains _of those- Athelinda was too absorbed in her work to do anything else.

That was just the way she liked it. And soon she would achieve much more than anyone had ever dreamed.

She would accept no less.

* * *

Merlin was her hero- he changed the world, she thought glancing at his tapestry-portrait before she went on her way. Athelinda did the usual prefect duty of guiding the first-years back to the Great Hall, where the feast was served last night and where they had breakfast that day.

She went to greet Professor Slughorn.

"Ah, Athelinda, m'dear!" Slughorn boomed in his jolly voice. "How are you this fine term?"

Athelinda smiled.

"Well, as ever professor," she simpered. "I'm simply glad to be back."

"Well I'm glad you've been made the prefect," he smiled. "Well, you made me," she pointed.

"True," he chuckled. He leaned forwards. "Although I confess, my dear girl, I didn't think to consider anyone else."

Athelinda chuckled while the potions master winked conspiratorially. "Well, you are the best," he noted. "You and Tom. I couldn't have anyone else as prefect. No doubt that you're sure to be on your way to be Head Girl soon enough."

"Thank you, professor. I think you're too kind," she said pretending to be astonished by his remark.

"Nonsense," he said. Although he actually showered his favourites with gifts and job opportunities the less talented could only envy. "I was just speaking with Tom. He suggested that you would be the next prefect when poor Griselda stepped down."

Startled by that remark, Athelinda shot an involuntary glance at Tom Riddle. Since when did he take such an interest in her?

"Well," she stammered. "I'm honoured either way. Slytherin is a great house."

"Yes, even though some idiots tend to be prejudiced." He scowled. "If they don't mend their ways, soon we'll have the whole ministry behind us, arresting us for being Grindelwald sympathisers. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Bah!"

Athelinda empathised. She knew what it was like. A number of students in their house came from old pure-blood families with great fortunes. These had ancestors who had fought in wars and struggles against Muggles and many had thus, lost family members to terrible fates such as hanging, drownings, or God forbid, the Witch-Burnings. When the international Statute of Secrecy was imposed world-wide this provoked a fury in many of these families. They had sacrificed so much, lost their loved ones, and for what? For their governments to accept defeat and decide they should all cower and hide underground?

So they taught their rage and loss to their offspring and these were passed down from generation to generation. And then Grindelwald rose promising freedom, and the ability to walk in pride and unashamed to all. It was almost too tempting for many. And Griselda Penrose was only one person who suffered at their hands. Even to that day, Wizards and witches were not safe. They were lucky enough that the Muggles were distracted with their war.

But these were getting out of hand. They discriminated strongly and some were even arrested, arousing suspicion within the Ministry that they might be in league with Grindelwald and were his spies. They were bringing shame upon themselves. Yes, Grindelwald's idea was tempting, but Athelinda was certain murder, torture and Dark Magic were not the way to do it.

She wanted a different path; wanted to change the world another way. Into the shining image she had long since envisioned.

Athelinda sighed. "One can only do so much, Professor. It's not your fault these people are deluded. I can assure you, I won't accept any prejudice to taint our image of a great house."

Slughorn beamed. "I knew you'd say that, my girl! I knew I could count on you!"

Athelinda smiled.

Of course he could. There was no one who couldn't.

If only the monsters like Grindelwald, the cowardly idiots in the Ministry and the unambitious, resigning persons who were content with the way things were could just get a hold of themselves…

She saw her brother at the Gryffindor table. He was holding a letter. The look on his face…

He looked up as he saw her walking over to him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Father's been injured." It was all he could say.

Athelinda felt as if the world had opened up a gaping, black, bottomless pit beneath her feet. She staggered and sat.

"Easy," her brother reached out with a warm and comforting hand. "It's not too serious. Soon he'll be patched up. Mother just wrote."

"Then what?" she spat. "He'll go back to the front again?" She looked furious. "It's not how I want him to live out his life!"

"Well, how do you want him to live out his life?" Rhaegar asked.

She looked incredulous. "I want him to retire, return home in peace. To go home- be a family once more." She looked miserable. "I don't want to stay up worrying about whether or not he'll make it home, whether we can bury him, or whether we can even find his body."

She looked down at her hands. Hot tears soaked the inside of her eyelids as she thought about how long this war would last and how long she would have to wait, listening for every shred of news, until she could be sure Father would return home.

It wasn't how the world was supposed to be.

How had things happened? She thought. How did the world manage to get into such a place?

She knew things had to change.

One day it would.

This much, will be.

She looked up. Her black eyes met his blue ones- he had deep blue eyes, but almost icy in colour. He inherited that from their mother. She didn't know where her black eyes came from. Possibly it was an effect of the Naga venom.

Willamar came over from the Hufflepuff table. His face was ashen. Rhaegar took a deep breath and prepared to tell the news.

She couldn't stay here. She had to console herself- she had to make plans.

And plan she did.

* * *

_**Yes, I know. Rhaegar is the name of a Prince in Game of Thrones, but I like the name so I named Athelinda's elder brother after him. Athelinda herself, is a variation of the name Ethelinda ( I admit I switched the E for an A) which itself comes from the Anglo-Saxon Aethelinda- meaning Noble Serpent. Cool name for a Slytherin, huh?**_

_**As for her powers- this will be explained in the next chapter, along with her mysterious back-ground. As for the Armed forces thing- well I don't really expect aurors- and there are only so much of them in the Wizarding world anyway, and they're more like policemen, anyway than real soldiers- to be the one to fight against Dark Lords with vast and colossal armies such as Voldemort and Grindelwald. So why not have armies of your own? But that will be explained in the next chapter!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**"The only people that can change the world are the ones who want to. And not everybody does."**_

_**Hugh Macleod**_

"What in Merlin's name," Rhaegar said irritably. Willamar looked slightly bored.

Rhaegar was upset. The letter from his little sister had been taken in for inspection- as ordered- but it was still irritating to know private letters between family members were being read and inspected.

Rhaegar knew he could spend little time with his youngest sister before Hogwarts. He was in his seventh year. By the time she was old enough to enter school, he would be long gone, and thus able to worry about her all he liked because he could never be there to look out for her.

But then again, she was far from stupid. And he wouldn't even know if she would be in the same house. All his siblings were sorted into different houses. Willamar in Hufflepuff, Athelinda in Slytherin.

They hadn't had a Ravenclaw yet, he thought with a smile. And Philomena was a prodigy. There was no denying. In fact, the four of them were considerably more advantaged over their fellow students. Their mother was a teacher in Durmstrang- before she decided to resign in protest over the use of Dark Magic conducted by students who admired Grindelwald. _And _the harsh punishments the teachers imposed on them, which she called sadistic.

Rhaegar sighed. "My year as Head Boy," he said sourly. "I could celebrate."

"Oh, stop being so sour," Willamar said cheerfully. "Everyone looks up to you. And you _did_ have a choice."

Casting an irritable glance Rhaegar was tempted into disobeying orders and pulling out his broom for Quidditch.

"Speaking of which, did I mention that I heard from Professor Merrythought, that the duels would be a series of competitions?" Willamar said. "Not simply to test us, but the one who would be winner over the whole school will be selected to compete in the Duelling Circuit."

"_What?"_ Rhaegar was startled. "How does this help?" he said, overcoming his astonishment.

"It helps because it might be the doorway to your qualifications to being accepted into the clan's forces," Willamar said patiently. "It is what you want after all, isn't it?"

Rhaegar was unable to speak. He was stunned. "Truly?" he said. Willamar nodded. "Well, you are in your final year," he pointed. "And you are of age. So why not start preparing, so they would be happy to accept you in training? Duelling champion isn't a bad way to start."

"No," Rhaegar said slowly. "Do you think the clan leaders will accept me?"

"Do you want to help?" Willamar asked. "Or do you simply want the glory?"

"I want to help, of course," he said, sounding shocked. "Well…" Willamar gestured. "It's not a bad way to start your preparations."

He snorted. "I doubt the preparations of Hogwarts would be enough." The clan had an almost-brutal ways of preparing their troops. Training could cost a life as easily as a battle or a mission can.

"Well, we start at the dirt before we can reach the stars," Willamar said. "It's a saying, isn't it?"

Rhaegar was silent, and he didn't even listen to the last part. He knew what he wanted to do.

Athelinda re-read, re-did and perfected her transfiguration homework to new heights. She was not pleased for long. She re-did it again, thinking she could do better which she did.

She could hardly be satisfied. And surely Dumbledore deserved better?

Eventually, after re-doing her various pieces of homework time and time again, she finally, grudgingly accepted that she could do no more, and picked up a heavy text-book on Magical History. It was a favourite subject, and she could always improve herself. She wanted to do better.

After all, she wanted to improve the world.

Wait until they all see the plans she had, she thought as she delved into the book.

But she had read and re-read this so many times that she got easily bored. There was nothing new this text-book could give her. Perhaps she should get another text-book. Owl-order, of course. She hated not being able to go to Hogsmeade.

Her mind wandered. She then heard students whispering.

"What _clans_?" one of them asked.

She was a first-year by the looks of her.

"The Atlantean clans." Another whispered. "The people from Atlantis."

The first student laughed. "It's a myth, surely, a silly, stupid old legend."

Athelinda could smiled. She knew it wasn't a myth. Silly and imaginative as it sounded, she knew the truth: she was one of them.

"It's not a myth," the student sniffed. "Only someone who is truly ignorant or unaware would think that. Who do you think is fighting the war against Grindelwald?"

The girl shrugged. "The aurors overseas of course," she said. The other students in her group laughed out loud, save for a few first-years who were just as puzzled as she.

"Of course not, Silly," an older girl laughed. "How many aurors do you think are in Britain alone? And how many of Grindelwald's followers come around to drop explosives onto our houses? Do you really think a paltry handful of aurors are enough to fight against mass armies that a Dark Lord such as Grindelwald has on his side?"

A boy bristled. "My father's an auror."

"My apologies," the elder girl shrugged carelessly. "But you know what I mean- no matter how skilled, they're not enough. No, aurors operate on domestic grounds alone. Grindelwald is invading Europe and Asia at the moment. Aurors can only operate on their home soil. If they leave their countries, they no longer have any authority to do _anything_\- even law-enforcement. No, we need real soldiers for the fight. People who have been trained as warriors since birth. They are the survival of our race." There were murmurs of agreement.

Athelinda didn't usually listen in conversations, but now she needed encouragement. Her clan needed encouragement- she wanted to know people were supporting them.

"Long ago," the girl started. "There was an island called Atlantis. And it was unique because it was the only entirely wizarding nation in the whole world. Not like what the Muggles say. It was the greatest human civilisation. Think of Ancient Greece and Rome. They were babies compared to Atlantis."

There were murmurs of agreement.

"It was a society where the greatest of the great lived. Protected by barriers that prevented hostile forces and kept Atlantis hidden from Muggles and their ships. The greatest arcane library was found in Atlantis. Scholars, musicians, artisans of all kind- it s_hone. _Nothing could compare, think of the greatest centre of culture- Atlantis was more than a thousand times it's better. The people flourished. They were the richest nation and had the most advanced magic and technology. Some people even claimed they managed to combine mechanics with magic- something which many witches and wizards have tried to produce but failed to re-create."

If only they knew, she thought, that the secret was never lost.

"Atlantis' own people were different; they aged slower and they transfigured their own genes so they would be born stronger, faster, sharper in senses and even more attractive than ordinary humans. But the golden age didn't last. Atlantis was destroyed, nearly one-and-a-half thousand years ago, by a great cataclysmic Tsunami."

Yes, Athelinda was bitter. That was the real tragedy. The greatest civilisation- the very epitome of what wizards and witches should be- was extinguished.

"But the people didn't die," the girl continued. "Many of them fled. Hundreds of years later, a boy named Merlin and his young sister Igraine arrived in Britain."

There was a huge drawing of breath. _"Merlin?"_ a boy said excitedly. "_The_ Merlin?" "How many other Merlins do we know of?" the girl laughed. "Yes, that Merlin. He was taught and trained in Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin- his teacher was none other than the great Salazar himself." The Slytherin's pride, Athelinda thought. Merlin, undisputedly the greatest sorcerer in history, was trained by none other than Salazar Slytherin himself.

Unfortunately it was almost all they had.

"Soon after Igraine married a Muggle king," the girl explained. "And had two children with him. The elder was Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain. And the younger was Morgana."

"The dark witch?" a first-year girl sounded puzzled. "No, don't believe those stories," another older student sniffed. "Morgana has often been mistaken for Morgause, her elder half-sister. For a fanatic magic-hating Muggle, Uther Pendragon the king, had a strange attraction for witches. So much so that before he married Igraine he had a child with a Dark witch who had Morgause. The names are similar, so the two are often mistaken. And we know that Muggles tend to forget Morgause and put Morgana in her place in many adaptations. Hence the confusion."

"Yes," the other older student replied. "Morgana was loyal to her brother. Together the three of them ushered a golden age, where witches and wizards actually co-existed in peace, and where no mage actually had to fear for his life. Of course when Arthur died or left for Avalon, according to whatever story you choose to believe, everything fell apart. And Muggles started hunting witches and wizards again. And the other way around.

"But the Atlanteans survived," she continued. "And many of them re-grouped and settled in various parts of the globe- mostly in Europe and Asia. They live in lands where no Muggle knows of their existence and in cities where no witch or wizard can ever enter, except those who were invited. The clans have their own scholars, inventors, powerful mages, artisans and so forth. And yes, they have the military power that every Ministry of Magic is depending on to save them from Grindelwald."

"Who's fighting for us?" a girl whispered. "The Volsunga." The older student replied. "Clan Volsung. You may recognize the name from Sigurd or Siegfried the Dragon-Slayer. But it's where the Pendragon family and Merlin trace their origins."

There was an awed silence. "You know," the girl whispered conspiratorially. "There's one of them in this room." She gestured towards Athelinda.

There was an awed, shocked silence and then whispers. Athelinda knew it all. It was her family's history. And she would continue it. One day, she vowed, the Age of Arthur, Merlin and Morgana would return. And this time it would last.

It was her dream. And she would have a part in its making.

* * *

Rhaegar stared determinedly. The duelling club was the best part of the new school term- well, they couldn't do anything else.

Students had been roaming restlessly, bored and discontent at the rules disallowing Hogsmeade visits. Several times he had had to break up several fights and bullying miscreants who harassed the younger students and even each other. Parents would be waking up to owls bearing letters of complaint against their offspring, and it didn't matter if many of the old pure-blood families spoiled their children and were lax on discipline- Rhaegar would never be.

On top of it all, he was a NEWT student and like his sister, he was a fanatic in doing the best he could. School examinations were unpleasant, but NEWTs were particularly nasty. He always erased and re-did his homework, like his sister, thinking that better could be achieved, but his ambitions weren't that enormous. In fact, he did not see an immediate need for a worldwide Camelot, the way his sister dreamed.

He knew it was going to happen anyway, the International Statute of Secrecy couldn't last forever, and sooner or later Muggles would, in fact, discover they were more than myth and old superstition. He only hoped they would remember Merlin, the sorcerer even Muggles revere.

The duels would take place in the armoury. He was eager to see. First-years would duel with each other, second-years as well, third, fourth and so forth. The top student winners- excluding the first years- would compete with one another regardless of year, until only one champion remained. That champion would enter the International Duellers' Tournament.

They could also very well mean, that if the student was Atlantean in descent, they could be accepted into the Clan's Armed forces as a cadet.

Taking a deep breath, the students were organised into pairs.

Rhaegar's duelling partner was a spoilt snotty-nosed boy with limited talents whom he disliked. He blasted him easily, but was severely disappointed in the lack of competition. If he wanted to impress the clan's leadership and gain a gateway into entering the Armed forces, he needed to do better.

* * *

Athelinda had been piling on her studies until the time came for the Duelling club.

Excited, she was about to show them just how well she had been trained before she even came to school.

Blasting her opponent with a stunning spell was easy. The repertoire of charms, jinxes and hexes she had piled up were extensive and varied immensely. She knew she was not allowed to do permanent harm, or to shed the slightest bit of blood, but she did very well nonetheless.

Oliver Wormwood, came up to her and tried to attack her with a silencing charm. She smirked. She didn't even need to cast her spells verbally. She dodged it- even though she could easily have blocked it, she wanted the element of surprise- and shot a Stick-fast hex towards him. It pinned his feet on the ground and she didn't even pause, shooting a Smokescreen spell around him. While he struggled to magically unstick his feet and clear the air, Athelinda threw a Stunning spell at him, knocking him out easily.

But she couldn't use Stunning spells all the time in real life.

Her next partner came up.

It was Florence Balcroft. She was a pretty golden-haired girl with curls and sparkling blue eyes. And she was smart.

Florence took a deep breath. They simultaneously approached one another, whipped out their wands and bowed their heads. Then they marched back to their places.

"One," Professor Merrythought boomed. "Two," he boomed again. "Three," he announced.

Florence shot a spell towards Athelinda. It came in a jet of red light which she easily blocked with a Shield-charm. Smirking to herself, she cast another spell, the _Everte Statum_, and it threw Florence backwards. She landed hard but scrambled back up and threw another spell at Athelinda- a freezing-charm. Athelinda caused flames to erupt in a wall in front of her and before anyone could find out what was happening, Athelinda cast another spell, the _Aguamenti _and drenched her with water. Spluttering, she couldn't even cast another spell before Athelinda cast the _Entomorphis _and Florence was an insect. She transfigured her back and dried the girl, by way of apology.

Athelinda cast a glance at Rhaegar. He was doing extremely well, she thought, better than she had done. Rhaegar had, by the looks of it, blasted three opponents with exploding charms, stunned one of them, froze three more, transfigured _eight_ jinxed nine and threw a number of hexes and jinxes at countless others- and the morning was still young.

This would not do. She was not doing well enough.

Athelinda got out her wand for the next opponent, then frowned. She knew something wasn't right. They all had duelling practice first thing this morning, and Tom Riddle was not there.

She did her duties, half-expecting Tom to be there at the armoury already. But now that she thought about it, Tom Riddle was not present.

The next opponent shot fire at her, and Athelinda had to concentrate if she wanted to impress anyone and excel.

* * *

Athelinda pushed the clothes into place and tucked the loose ends neatly. Her father was home. The winter had arrived and the snow blanketed everything, so that it was almost a white-out.

She was severely disappointed when she had heard; not because her father had returned safe, but she had expected him to arrive, laden with praises, medals and promotions- furthermore, she had long since wished their family name would regain the glory it once had. She had hoped her father would gain some standing or at least a name that Grindelwald could fear and view as a threat, but no. He had arrived in his usual post- which, admittedly, was higher than most, and with one medal for bravery. That was it.

So with a sour taste in her mouth, she accepted the news- what other choice did she have in regards to him? But it tore at her, not being able to do anything about _anything_. In the meantime there was a Dark Lord that was becoming more and more powerful than any Dark Witch or Wizard had ever been. Europe was being devoured and ground up, and Britain, and other countries that had escaped Grindelwald's notice so far, were simply waiting for the same fate.

Sighing exasperatedly, angrily, she threw another robe in. It wasn't that she wasn't glad that her father was alive and safe, home for Christmas, no less, but it would have been a chance of joy, enthusiasm and above all _hope_, if her father had returned a legend.

It was too much to ask for.

Groaning mentally, she went about her prefect duties. Slytherin House was in good hands, she knew that much. She may not have known Tom Riddle very well, and barely ever spoke to him, or looked at him, but she did not doubt his competence in the least. Not all students were returning home for Christmas. Many of them had been persuaded to stay as they did not know if their homes would still be standing, or their parents still living, during this period. Hogwarts was safer. Riddle would be staying with the staff at school.

But her mother wanted them home. It was Christmas and a chance for the family to be reunited once more. It was something she looked forward to.

During breakfast, students chatted, trying to keep an atmosphere of excitement, free of worries. But it was barely worth the effort. Athelinda forked and piece of egg on toast into her mouth. Truly, one could even taste the fear in the food.

What a world they lived in.

"Good morning," a voice sounded pleasantly above her. She looked up.

Tom Riddle was standing over her smiling benevolently down at her. She stared at him blankly. _What was he doing here?_

"I saw you in Duelling practice," he said, sitting down beside her. She could only stare. "You were amazing."

She blinked. "I didn't see you in Duelling practice."

"That is because your brother won against me with a trick spell and a disarming one," he laughed slightly. "I was out in no time." There was something not right.

"I won against three seventh-years, with blasting hexes, two with a variety of jinxes, used a freezing-charm on one, stunned another, but ultimately, your brother managed to use his brilliant mind against me," he laughed.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "I thought you were in sixth-year."

"I am," Tom said smoothly. "Which was why after I won, Professor Merrythought pitted me against the seventh-years."

Athelinda felt a strong tang on envy. This boy had won against all his classmates, moved onto the next year group, and won against many, in spite of the limited time period? Even if he had ended up losing, he had done something she could not do- she didn't even get past three-quarters of her year before the time ran out.

But there was something else: it hit her and made her wary. Why would he be watching her? Rhaegar was the most spectacular duellist she had ever seen- even Professor Merrythought and her own father had said so, themselves. And he was closer. Why watch her instead?

"I thought you would have watched my brother," she said slowly, suspiciously.

Tom shrugged. "My eyes wonder a lot when I'm not concentrating. I saw you, and watched instead."

Now that was unlikely. Possible, but unlikely. Rhaegar was so spectacular and fantastic, no one would be able to take their eyes off him, _especially _if they weren't doing anything. As to watch his younger sister over him- well she might have been good, and like him, she didn't lose, but there was not a single person on earth that would not have watched Rhaegar but her instead.

"That's very kind of you," she said coolly. "Well, I know Slytherin House would be in good hands, after all only a fool would doubt your abilities- no, not even. Even if Professor Slughorn isn't here, I am certain you would do very well in managing all the students left behind." She tried to sound as dismissive and disdainful as possible.

What was he trying to do? She didn't know Tom Riddle well at all. As aforementioned, she barely even spoke to him, never took a good look at him- even if she did, her eyes never lingered. What did she care? He had a large group of people flocking to him, but he was one of the school's brightest and most promising along with her brother- there was talk that he would replace Rhaegar as Head Boy once the latter had left.

Tom Riddle had a large group of friends and admirers- that, and his talents and ingenuity were all she knew about him. She never paid much attention due to the whole idea of it not being her business in the least, but she also disdained them. They ranged in different kinds; some were intelligent and bright- with promising futures ahead of them. Others were considered dunces, even by some teachers. A number were wealthy with old names, the others were poor or middle-class. And a reasonable amount was what she considered to be trouble-makers and bullies. She vaguely remembered Griselda Penrose dragging a number of them to Slughorn, or even to Dippet. She knew they had a habit of harassing the younger students, although they seemed to be on their best behaviour when Tom Riddle was around. That may be a good thing, but it made her very suspicious, now that she thought about it.

Athelinda would say that he was trying to claim the glory helping such brilliant students- if they were all bright. In that case, he might have been like Slughorn, but a number were stupid, some were even cowardly. Tom Riddle, however, held tutorials for students, like her brother, so perhaps, he wanted to claim that he helped the next generation of brilliant wizards and witches and aimed them to greatness.

So what, was he trying to recruit her? She scowled. She was not his sycophant. Furthermore, she needed no one's help. Her marks were soaring higher than she had ever imagined.

Riddle's people, as she disdainfully decided to call them, revolved around him and depended on him like planets to a sun. They _needed _him. They were less like friends and more like devotees who worshipped him, she thought. That was the difference between him and her brother who was utterly warm and at ease with everyone. Tom Riddle, however, now that she saw him, was disgustingly charming with everyone and seemed to pull the strings.

She helped the other students with their trunks and boarded her sleigh after her own trunk went in. She felt the winter wind whipping her face as the sleigh rode forwards and felt the heat in her cheeks counter it, flaming with anger.

He wanted to claim responsibility for her achievements.

She hated that. No one would claim responsibility for her achievements or failings, not even her parents. Everyone just had to accept that.

Never would she walk in anyone's shadow.

Not even her brother's.

Never.

* * *

It was good to be home.

The lights glowed and Christmas was certainly on the way when Athelinda, Rhaegar and Willamar arrived home. Philomena squealed and ran to greet them. Rhaegar caught her and spun her round in the air, while she cried for joy.

Athelinda entered the manor. It was the family home in England and she had a number of others. Wrapped in an ermine mantle, she was grateful for the warmth when she stepped indoors. The large atrium glowed with its chandelier- carved from crystal, not candles unlike other witch and wizard homes. It was handsomely decorated, the walls panelled with warm wood, ornately carved and above it the walls were painted the colour of honey. The furnishings were elegant and tasteful, and it was decorated in undeniable taste and beauty: art hung from the walls, and in statuettes and sculptures in certain areas, magical objects, jewelled eggs made of gold and silver, porcelain and crystal vases and lamps set with semi-precious stones, flowers. Not too much, but most certainly wonderful and impressive.

She smiled, and in the living and drawing rooms, warm fires were burning. A tree had been set up and she smiled recognizing her sister's touch in decorating.

She removed her leather and down-trimmed gloves, putting them on a table and sighed blissfully. She was home.

Then a figure she recognized came into the room. "Father!" she exclaimed, running and jumping into his arms in delight.

Laughing with delight, he caught her and spun her around, much like Rhaegar had done with Philomena.

"You're home!" she exclaimed. "And are you alright?" she looked wary.

He smiled and stroked her cheek. "You know I'm perfectly fine, my darling. Your mother patched me up- she's better than all the healers in Saint Mungo's but don't tell her that- they'll be down here in days and demanding her presence in that chaotic place they call a hospital." He theatrically shuddered and she giggled, like a child.

Her father Andreas was a tall man, and had slightly bronzed skin and a chiselled aquiline nose, high forehead, sculpted cheeks, angularly defined cheekbones and nicely-arched brows beneath smoky silvery-green eyes. He smiled warmly at her.

"You're home," her mother smiled, entering from another room. She went over to hug her.

Her mother clung to her, breathing in her scent. At last, the family was together.

Until her husband had to go back to the front.

Pulling back from their embrace, her mother studied her carefully. She had clearly-cut features, good to be placed upon a cameo and deep blue eyes, slightly icy in tone, like her brother's. Her hair was deepest black and curled slightly at the edges. She smiled.

"I'm glad we can be home for Christmas," she said. Her mother turned. "We have all our presents, but of course you'll have to wait."

Athelinda rolled her eyes. "I'm not a child, Mother. It's Philomena who'll have to wait. And where's Winny? I haven't given her, the present!"

"It's not a hat, is it?" her father joked. "I'll miss her!"

Athelinda rolled her eyes and went off to find the House-elf. Winny was in the kitchen cooking up a storm.

"Winny," she sang opening her arms wide.

Winny turned and in surprise. "Miss Athelinda!" she squeaked, flying into Athelinda's arms. She knelt to hug the elf. "I've missed you," she said warmly.

Winny pulled back, huge eyes shining. "Come sit, Miss," she said happily. "Winny has baked Christmas cake and apple pie, crumpets, scones, chocolate cake and much, much more! Winny is going to make even more after this, just in time for the Christmas party!"

"What party?" Athelinda asked sharply. "What party is this, Winny?" She had thought they were going to spend the Christmas alone with each other, as a family.

The House-elf looked up at her innocently. "The party the Master and Mistress organised for Miss Athelinda's debut."

"Debut?" she was alarmed.

"Miss Athelinda's father wants her to meet society wizards," Winny squeaked. "He wants to invite wizards and witches for Christmas and everyone can celebrate and have pudding and cake and turkey.

Athelinda drew back in alarm. "Why would my father want to meet them? He hates those society elitists, who think they're better than anyone else. A number of them are Grindelwald supporters, that's what he'd said."

She ran out of the kitchen, determined to meet her father. He was in the atrium, hugging Willamar and Rhaegar.

"Father," she demanded hastily coming into the room. Her winter cloak swirled behind her, she didn't bother taking it off. "Is it true?"

Her father frowned. "Is what true?"

"That you're inviting society wizards here!" she was working her way up, close to a rage.

"Father?" Rhaegar bewildered looked back at him. "It's not like you."

"No," her father said grudgingly. "But it's what needs to be done."

"Father?" Rhaegar sounded even more bewildered, exchanging looks with Willamar.

Their father sighed. "We are standing at a precipice." He admitted. "Grindelwald is gearing up to invade Britain. And we need to be sure people in this country are on our side. This means the powerful elite with a great deal of money that could determine whether we win the war."

"The clan's might is what may win the war," Athelinda flared. "It has nothing to do with those snobbish elitists and pure-blood maniacs!"

"And who could stop Grindelwald if he marches upon Britain without us knowing? With the clan's back turned, fighting his forces in another part of the world? What about his spies, and infiltrators? No, we need to make allies, and we need to be sure that they are all on our side. I would very much like to see for myself. And a wise man once said: 'Keep your friends close, but your enemies, closer.' He was right. Your 'debut' is just a pretence, my dear. I want to see and talk to them, to find out what's really happening, within their heads and how they're reacting to the news that Grindelwald is gaining ground."

"What?" Athelinda was startled. "But the _Daily_ _Prophet _hasn't reported-"

"The _Daily Prophet _reports what the Ministry wants them to report," her father interjected. "Propaganda. It also boosts the nation's morale and eases their worries on Grindelwald's approach. Yes, we won a great victory in Bosnia, but we are paying the price in Austria, Hungary, Southern Germany, France and Denmark." He sighed heavily. "So much death." His eyes were haunted.

Rhaegar looked at the space ahead, not really seeing what was there. This was what needed to be done.

The Volsung Clan needed soldiers.

Her father opened a carafe of brandy and poured a glass. He downed it. "I am weary," he said. "But I cannot rest unless I know you children can be safe at in Britain and abroad. This Dark Lord has cost us so much- now he creates mass armies of _inferi_."

Her mother gasped. Athelinda felt ice flood her entire body. No, not even that much, possibly…

But her father knew. "The numbers of _inferi_ he created numbered ten thousand when they attacked us in Southern Hungary." His eyes were hollow. "Not just Muggles and magical civilians, but his dead soldiers which had been transformed by his orders and our own dead comrades, good soldiers that shared our meals and stories, laughed and defended us in life, costing their own, animated to attack us. He wants to spread fear and chaos, but he knows against the Volsunga it is a puny effort. So he's increasing his power.

"I don't want to use you," her father said, looking up. "But this is for your own safety as a whole. I'm getting tired, my darling, and I want this war to end soon, with as little casualty as we can hope for. But we cannot afford to lose this war, as it will mean the loss of everything we know of and hold dear."

Rhaegar was silent, contemplating. The clan needed more. They weren't the only clan fighting Grindelwald but…

He looked up and he strode off.

Their mother was a statue. "I knew Gellert Grindelwald," she said. "He was a few years above me in school." She was frozen. "He was mischievous, I never guessed…" she choked off. Her father took her hand. "What kind of monster creates such armies?" she gasped. Willamar held her tight as her tears spilled onto his shoulder.

A monster. That was the only explanation. And Nurmengard, her father told her, had been completed- a prison for Grindelwald's enemies. Now they were already packed filled with his opponents, Muggle-borns and Blood-traitors.

Athelinda didn't know what to say. Could she even react? She just stood stunned as her mother sobbed and needed comfort.

She knew she had to play her part- and she knew the world needed changing- for the better.


	4. Chapter 4

"_**I'm a sworn enemy of convention. I despise the conventional in anything, even the arts."**_

_**Hedy Lamarr**_

Angrily, Athelinda had no choice but to do as she was told.

Dressed in robes and a gown of black silk with white French lace trimming, She allowed her hair to fall loose and flowing, after curling it up. The black tresses fell down her back as silky as ever. She looked at her mirror. She tried smiling, but even though her lips, a natural deep cherry-red, rose up, her black eyes glinted menacingly.

She knew who would be there. She had reviewed the guest list. She knew their names: Lestrange, Black, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Rookwood, Avery, Malfoy- many of them were pure-blood maniacs.

How she loathed them. And now to have them entering their home, when by all means, their ideals should be stamped out and opposed violently…

They were a threat to them all. And now to enter their grounds…

But she knew that they would not harm them. The reason for this: they were sycophants and pure-blood maniacs. Thousands of years ago, Atlanteans performed magic that would enable their descendants to be pure-blooded Atlanteans in spite of intermarriage and so forth. There were no squibs produced in any of the clan's families. Even if they married Muggles. And of course, to safeguard such atrocities, those fools would be edging their sons forwards to Athelinda in hopes of an engagement. And not to mention they were one of the wealthiest families in Europe, with powerful connections. So….

Lead on, she thought bitterly, as she left her room.

The ballroom would be lavishly decorated in style. The guests were certain to be impressed, even the most snobbish and entered the ballroom and she noticed everyone turning to glance at her. She understood her father's reasons but at the same time, she wanted to scream: How could you do this?!

Someday she would never have to do anything like this again- someday, pure-blood fanatics would never be a threat.

Black silk embroidered with pearls flowed in a graceful train behind her, and a shower of diamond stars. There was white lace on her bodice. A black diamond graced her throat on a matching velvet choker. Her hair had diamonds woven in and a coronet as well.

She made quite a sight.

As she should.

Regally holding her head high, she was determined that if she should socialise with snobs who would look down on her differences and beliefs- the ones that would laugh at all her ideas, she would be snobbish to them in return.

Athelinda knew that with her majority not far away- only a few more years- many of them were looking for the opportunity to secure their bloodlines by marrying into an ancient Atlantean line.

They would be severly disappointed. Athelinda would change the world, and not in the way they wanted.

Drinks were served all around. Champagne, martinis, firewhiskey, butterbeers, elf-made wine, brandies and mead, served up in their most prized crystal glasses. She loathed the idea that they were serving their best crystal to these maniacs. If only they could poison them.

Athelinda sniffed and went to find her brother. At least she could enjoy some company. Her other brother and sister too.

He was waiting for her. True enough, there were a gaggle of girls hanging onto him. They didn't need to be pushed by their families- Rhaegar was one of the handsomest young men they had ever seen, if not the handsomest. They were so unimaginative- so shallow.

"Athelinda," Rhaegar drew himself upright. "Rhaegar, Greengrass, Avery," she acknowledged the girls coolly. "How do you find the party?"

Her brother raised an eyebrow at her stiffness, but he knew full well, why she was like that. But he needed to remind her of the need to be polite to their guests.

Her mood soured further.

"The party's fine," Rhaegar said. "I rather like it." He shot her a warning look. "In fact these girls were just telling me."

"Yes," one of them, Lucretia Greengrass gushed. "The whole place is… breath-taking," she breathed out the word, and Athelinda could see that she was sincere. Her mood softened.

"I love the decorations," gushed Megaera Avery.

"And I especially love the way the whole place is lit," Lucretia finished.

"I'm glad," Athelinda said. "And I'm glad you could make it- many people will be staying at school."

"Yes, including Tom," Megaera said regretfully.

"Yes, he's staying as well," Athelinda said. "Someone has to make sure the Slytherins are behaving alright and help poor old Sluggie."

The girls giggled. "You know he likes you," Lucretia pointed, eyes gleaming.

Athelinda took a step back. "What?!"

The girls giggled harder. "We saw him, trying to talk to you before you left. And again watching you during the Duelling club. No wonder he lost to you- although you were amazing," she breathed to Rhaegar.

Athelinda blinked. "Just because Tom Riddle watched me duel and said some words before I left, does not mean he likes me," she said irritably. She was annoyed. Typical girls, no wonder their studies suffered. She should recommend them to Tom or Rhaegar for tutorials, she thought. She was annoyed now, even further.

Rhaegar tried to stifle a smile. "I think I would know if Tom Riddle fancies my sister," he said. "Merlin's beard, where did you get that idea?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Megaera said giggling. "We saw him, looking at you, many times."

Athelinda was shocked. But not because she thought Tom Riddle fancied her. She wasn't a fool. This was not the type of boy to have had any attraction to anyone. She might not have been an expert at gossip, but she knew that he had never bothered to take a girlfriend.

Not even Florence Balcroft, Lucretia Greengrass, Megaera Avery and Irma Crabbe. Not any of the girls who drooled upon his parchment and gazed inanely at him, just like they did to Rhaegar.

She knew people had hoped he would get together with Griselda Penrose- but they never did. Tom was courteous- that was all. He never took a great deal of interest in girls for romance.

And she was heavily suspicious of him. Why was he taking such an interest in her? And didn't Professor Slughorn say that he had recommended her for prefect?

Her eyes narrowed. Something smelt fishy.

"Well, girls even if Tom Riddle liked me, I have work to do," she said breezily. She sniffed. "I am Slytherin prefect and I have ambitions that don't stop at school and the marriage home. Domestic life is only the end of the road, after a long journey- and I intend to keep it that way."

"That's my sister," Rhaegar said approvingly. "Not letting convention stop her dreams and plans for the future."

"Indeed." Willamar appeared behind them.

"I know she has some excellent plans for this world and it would be a shame to waste them."

Willamar's dark eyes registered something that signalled to Athelinda that he had some bad news to tell. He was normally left unseen in large gatherings such as this; he preferred to keep to himself in such formal circumstances, unlike his sister who loved formality- and he was slightly less noticeable than his elder brother who was worshipped by girls and idolised by men.

"What is it?" she asked quizzically. Willamar took a deep breath.

"Ladies," he acknowledged. "May I borrow my brother and sister for a moment, I have some grave news to tell."

And with that, heart filling with dread, both Rhaegar and she exchanged glances at each other before leaving for the kitchen- wait, they were on their way to the cellars.

"What is it?" she asked impatiently. "Willamar, what's happened?"

Willamar took a deep breath. "Feodora Williams is dead."

A lightning bolt of shock hit her. No, it couldn't be….

Feodora was a Hufflepuff student, a fifth-year, whom Athelinda actually liked. She was a Muggle-born, and very helpful and friendly to everyone. She was well-liked by the majority of the school, discounting the Pure-blood elitists. To hear that she was dead…. "No," she breathed.

Rhaegar stood frozen like he had gone through the same experience. His face drained of colour. "How?" he whispered.

Willamar took a deep breath. "Her parents found out. They're a superstitious bunch and they were involved in some sect or cult. A cult, I believe. And they actually witnessed her one way or another and, well, they burned her."

Rhaegar felt as if the life had been knocked out of him. "Burned her?" he exclaimed, aghast and more horrified than he had ever been.

"Burned," Willamar confirmed gravely. "I liked her enormously. She was one of the kindest people I'd ever met." For the first time Athelinda saw tears shimmering in her brother's eyes.

"But they'll catch them, won't they?" She blurted. "Murder is illegal for Muggles as it is for us, they won't let them get away with this! Even Muggles would know if a crime was committed and an underage child had disappeared or been killed."

But Willamar shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up," he said. "The Ministry doesn't want the Muggle police to find out- it could mean our exposure in involving themselves with a crime such as this- and it's looking the other way- they're side-lining it, focusing more on covering it up rather than risking people finding out and more support for Grindelwald in this country and abroad."

Athelinda was speechless. She couldn't believe it.

Feodora was one of the kindest people there ever was. And now they were covering up a crime, simply to ensure their own power was not threatened? This was not the way to deal with such things! If they wanted to show the world they were worthy of support, they could have brought those heartless monsters to justice. Instead, if and when this story leaks out…

Was it any wonder, she thought, that Grindelwald was gaining more and more support? The Ministries were corrupt- more interested in securing power, importance and wealth rather than doing any actual good in the world. More interested in keeping the peace and hiding ugly truths than solving the problems themselves.

And the only other alternative was through monsters like Grindelwald who employed dark magic the way people used washing water? Who advocated the extermination of Muggle-borns?

The world was a sick place.

A long time ago, it wasn't like that. A long time ago, there was a man, Arthur, they called him, although he was little more than a boy when he first started. He had a younger sister and a mentor. And together they ushered the greatest era of peace and prosperity, where fear was a stranger and hunger was unheard of. Where the greatest advancements in modern magic started and achieved ground-breaking levels. Where people were groomed to rise to new heights above the stars, and the world knew their name and revered them. Where Muggles did not despise anyone who was simply born with magic, including their own children, and lived side by side, happily, no less, with them. It was the time of Camelot.

But Camelot had faded nearly a thousand years ago when Morgause's son Mordred rose up against Arthur and tried to kill him. Mordred died, but although it was simply meant to have been an overthrow and not total destruction, the Age of Camelot was over and Merlin, Arthur and Morgana knew that they could not stay. So they left for Avalon, where Muggles would believe Arthur would return from and whereupon a prophecy was given to the wizards and witches of Britain, that one day, the golden age of Arthur Pendragon would return. And it would stem from the roots where Arthur sprung. She believed it.

But how long did they have to wait? It was a maddening thought.

How many hundreds of years, until Arthur's descendants made their move? Was it when the wizards and witches were nearing annihilation? She thought angrily.

She stormed out of the cellar and kitchen without a word.

She stormed to her bedroom, slamming and locking the door.

Muggles. She didn't hate them all, but there was no justice in them being so dominant, whereas their people suffered. There was no fairness at all in the way the Ministry had gone weak and corrupt and other ministries worldwide were following the same pattern.

And the only option was a monster and a lover of Dark Magic, like Grindelwald.

She wanted a society where everyone would hold their heads high. And it was a society no one was going to get.

The sickening feeling appeared, and so did a green snake head. It crept from its hollow and slithered all the way to rest comfortingly on her arm, as if sensing her distress, slithering all the way up, gently nudging her head with his, where she sat on the floor, with her hands around her knees.

She looked up. Tears blurring her vision, she saw that it was Vasuki. A favourite friend. She smiled through her tears.

_"Hello, my dear,"_ she hissed in Parseltongue. _"Just when I needed you. Your comfort is greatly appreciated. I have missed you."_

The snake hissed in return. _"I thought you would have forgotten me. Your House-elf does not like me, or any of us for that matter," _his tail flicked slightly.

Athelinda sighed. _"I am sorry about that, you know. She just isn't used to us and out ways- she's scared she might get bitten. And she wants to clean the room which she very well cannot since you are still here when she arrives. Maybe I should set an assigned cleaning time, and then you would all leave and come back at twilight."_

_"Maybe,"_ the snake responded. Vasuki flicked out his forked tongue. _"Come, the others have missed you," _he slithered away.

Athelinda smiled and got up. In her room were several large urns and vases. Opening a lid, she hissed and cooed softly in Parseltongue. Soon enough, a pale snake head emerged, followed by her slithering body. Athelinda smiled. Manasa emerged. She held out a hand, extending it slowly and smoothly, the way snakes liked. Manasa slithered on it, curling up comfortably.

Soon enough she lifted more lids and whispered softly in more vases. The snakes, one by one, all came out. There were dozens of them. A number were small, but she had one large one.

Surasa slithered from her urn. She occupied the largest, simply because she was the largest; her coils could wrap around a tree-trunk more than twice. Surasa hissed in joy when she saw Athelinda. She slithered to her, nuzzling her affectionately.

Athelinda beamed. _"Words cannot describe how happy I am, in this moment,"_ she said softly. With the snakes she forgot about her troubles.

Surasa rubbed her head against her leg. _"Something troubles you?" _she asked.

Athelinda sighed. _"The world is a horrible place."_ Surasa looked at her, unblinking.

Athelinda sighed again and proceeded to tell her about what had transpired. Surasa, and the smaller snakes all slithered around her, wrapping and coiling themselves everywhere, knowing she needed their comfort. She loved them.

She did not see the fear other people had when they encountered snakes- they were like humans. They were simply afraid of them because they did not understand; they did not understand if a snake was angry, and that a snake would be frightened that they would be attacked by something that could trample them. They were afraid of getting bitten. Well, snakes were afraid of getting crushed, burnt and anything else a human might do to them.

These were the friends the fluttery girls at Hogwarts could never be.

Athelinda had been born different. She had been born in the rainforests of India. Her parents had not known they were expecting when they were called to the aid of another Atlantean clan that resided there. Her mother was a scholar and a teacher of renown, and her father was needed to train young boys to fight against invaders whom she forgot about. The Volsunga had given their permission.

It was on this mission, during a trek in the rainforest, that the couple's baby daughter had been born. After laying her to sleep in a make-shift crib- they had nothing else, and they were stranded- her parents tried to contact others. But while their backs were turned, a being of a magical, powerful, yet unknown kind arrived at the scene. It was a Nagini- a female Naga.

Nagas were beings that were similar to the centaurs and mer-people in the fact that like them, they seemed half human and half animal. It wasn't true. Although centaurs were equine as well as sentient, and mer were fish as well, they were beings and creatures in their own right, not the half-breeds people rudely assumed them to be.

And so were the Naga. They seemed to be half snake in the fact that they were reptilian, and they had a scaled lower body- the torso and tail like a giant snake's. Their eyes were slightly snake-like and they had snake fangs hidden in their mouths, and sharp talons. But they were ambivalent beings and could either be good or evil, the way other beings could. Their language was also Parseltongue, like snakes. And they featured heavily in local stories, being either malevolent- a Muggle's perception, mostly- ambivalent, or wise and benevolent with advice that, if ignored, could cost the receivers great peril.

This Nagini had lost her husband and her eggs had not hatched. She had fallen into despair and when hunting for food had come across a baby girl- a witch-child. In excitement, she had taken the baby, not knowing the parents were still nearby and decided to keep it. Athelinda had known the loving coils of her 'mother's' scaly tail and had drunk drops of her venom before she even tasted milk. Naga venom had legendary, magical properties and it had given Athelinda remarkable powers- one of which was the ability to become a Parselmouth. Another was to will things to happen, set into the future.

She was not a seer- she was far more powerful than that. Seers only speak of what was to come- in other words, they never chose. She could choose.

But the power rarely took effect. She didn't know if there was a pattern to it, and only belatedly realised the power had taken effect when she was saying or deciding something. It rarely ever happened.

And she could never affect her own future- that was the depressing realisation. There were limits to her powers which she did not even understand.

She sighed. Surasa she had named after her Naga mother, although her parents gained her back. She was heartbroken when she learned Surasa had died, and thus named a new snake after her- the biggest of the snakes that she had.

But her power reminded her that she was far from helpless. And thus, she should stop acting as such.

Athelinda stood. She had talent. She had brains. She had power. And above all else she had a will for the world to change. And Camelot will return.

This much, will be.


	5. Chapter 5

_**" A note of caution: We can never achieve goals that envy sets for us. Looking at your friends and wishing that you had what they had is a waste of energy. Because we are all unique and what makes another happy may do the opposite for you. That's why advice is nice, but often disappointing when heeded."**_

_**Marcus Buckingham.**_

* * *

The return to Hogwarts came almost as a relief to Athelinda. She wasn't looking forward to her father returning to the front, but he told her he was leaving to negotiate more agreements with the other Atlantean clans to convince them to join the fight.

Athelinda knew he would be successful- but not completely.

This was Rhaegar's final year. And he was training hard- for NEWTs and for entering the clan's Armed forces.

She didn't know what to think.

This was her brother- her elder brother. He had always been there. And soon he would go- he would be brutalized and hardened, he would risk his life countless times.

And he would go onto glory- become a legend. She felt it in her blood and bones.

He would soar to the stars. She would remain in the Slytherin Dungeons assisting Slughorn with acquiring extra ingredients, buying him gifts of mead and sweets, disciplining irate bullies and confiscating dangerous objects, telling first-years where to go, and who the teachers were.

And she felt she could do other things. And everyone _did _know it. Yet, she was still stuck at Hogwarts.

She was optimistic though.

Ignoring Tom Riddle- his very existence annoyed her, now- Athelinda did her duties with grace, performed at classes and homework with unbelievable ease, and remained cheerful to boost the morale of the students and staff. No one dared to ask her about the war, even though they knew she was a member of Clan Volsung- their defenders.

It was just the way she wanted it.

Until the duelling began again.

Professor Merrythought came up again.

She took her place and her partner was a boy she didn't even know the name of. They marched out in front, whipped out their wands, bowed their heads and marched back.

"One," Professor Merrythought boomed. "Two," Athelinda was ready. She knew what to do.

"Three," he boomed again.

She cast a shield-charm, just in time to block the jet of light. Shooting jets of coloured light, water, sparks, smoke and so forth, the two duelled, and Athelinda managed to defeat her.

The next opponent was a boy reputed to be brainy. They clashed for a time, before Athelinda easily disarmed him and magically pinned him to the ground.

Another opponent came up. And then another. And another. It kept on going.

And Athelinda managed to defeat everyone in her year group.

Soon everyone was remarking on her, whispering and pointing. It looked as if she was gaining ground.

Soon Professor Merrythought proclaimed her the winner of her year. And she beamed at her and said, "Soon, my girl, you'll be duelling champion. Grindelwald will learn to fear you."

The burst of pride and joy rose up inside Athelinda like a fireworks display. It burst and showered all over, flooding her body with light. She glowed in and out.

"You'll do good in this world," Merrythought boomed. "Soon it won't be like this- and you'll have your part in its making."

_Yes, _Athelinda thought. _I will. _

* * *

With the exception of Rhaegar whom she had yet to beat, Athelinda became the best duellist.

She didn't neglect her studies though. But her parents were by now used to receiving soaring marks from their offspring, so they could only smile and shake their heads in pride as the marks came in.

She needed it- needed to be the best she could be, to gain a favourable review by everyone who had to listen, to respect, or even to fear her.

Rhaegar, Willamar and Athelinda never _merely_ got an Achieved.

And no doubt Philomena won't either when she arrived.

At transfiguration; she was a master, at Divination; a mystery to behold, at History of Magic she was more correct than any text-book. At herbology, the plants grew madly and depended on her very touch as they did water. Charms she was brilliant and at potions she shone as bright as the greatest masters, if not better. She survived at Care of Magical Creatures and the animals soon loved her. Arithmancy- a subject she insisted on taking- was excelled at and improved by her. Soon the teachers were piling so much compliments onto her the whole school were gazing wide-eyed.

As she had always dreamed. It was a start.

Astrology was another thing she loved and she was looked upon as the brightest in her year. She sparkled like the stars themselves when complimented.

And Defence was another subject she was skilled at.

She was head-to-head with Rhaegar, her brother- in _everything_. But she could never afford to let him win.

She said to herself, she would never walk in anyone's shadow.

And that, no matter what, included her brother's.

Soon she would exceed him- and change the world. And she would win.

Despite how much she loved him.

* * *

Athelinda stood poised. She had reached the stages of the duelling competitions where people were starting to get permanently knocked out. From then onwards, only the winners could proceed.

Could they imagine what would happen if she won- and proceeded to win the International Dueller's Tournament? She would gain world-wide recognition- and would be seen as a major player in the fight against Grindelwald, if she decided to do so. And from there onwards, people would listen- to her ideas, her plans, her dreams of rebuilding a great society- the society they had once lost, over a thousand years ago, when Atlantis sunk into the waves.

She had designs, ideas, plans, everything to build and instruct others- and ways to fight Grindelwald and other dark witches and wizards. Witches and wizards that dabbled in dark magic were evil, there was no doubt of that, and if they could be taught things were different...

And if those that persisted learned to fear her...

At the third stage, Athelinda had long since beaten everyone in her year group. The champions from fifth, sixth, fourth and third year as well. The first and second years tired long ago. Tom Riddle was unable to compete due to suffering from a Potions accident which involved a faulty cauldron exploding and immersing him in its contents. He dropped out, with little choice.

Now she, Rhaegar, Willamar, and a few others were all that remained. Rhaegar sadly beat Willamar who smirked in reply. She won against Freddie Willard and knocked out three more. No one seemed to stand a chance. As she moved higher and higher, the competition became more intense and even more spectacular.

Soon she had beaten all of them- except for Rhaegar.

Rhaegar had beaten everyone else.

The finals were held in full view of the Headmaster and other staff members who were in attendance. Gryffindor and Slytherin banners hung everywhere. Everyone was excited- this was the highlight of the week. Without the Hogsmeade visits and Quidditch, there was little else they could look forward too.

Everyone asked Willamar who he wanted to win. He laughed and said both were his siblings; he loved them both and they loved each other. He may have felt guilty that Athelinda wanted to win as well, and he was pitting Rhaegar against their own sister. He had, after all suggested this.

And soon larger spaces were created, protective barriers were set up and the headmaster, teachers and other staff members, and students from all years were safely seated behind them, in the great hall (the armoury was deemed insufficient for such a colossal duel).

Rhaegar and Athelinda mounted the steps. A large, wide platform had been set up. They were only allowed a wand although they could use magic without it. And not all of the spells were verbal, so the students would be hard-pressed to find out what was going on- and it created an extra challenge for the opponent.

Brother and sister readied themselves. They shed their outer robes. Bets were made. Their wands weighed. Students listened in excitement. Their names were called out and each walked forwards. Rhaegar and his sister Athelinda, the best duellists the school could provide.

No one noticed that another audience member was quietly watching.

Willamar looked resigned.

They whipped out their wands. And at the command of Professor Merrythought, both siblings strode forwards, held their wands in front of their faces and prepared to bow.

"Good luck," Rhaegar whispered. He winked.

Athelinda gave him a smirk.

They bowed their heads, and both strode back to their original places.

"One," Professor Merrythought boomed.

"Two," he started again.

"Three!" the signal was given.

The two students duelled like they had never duelled before- in a way the teachers never imagined that students even could- in fact, many of them gasped and in awe said that they believed only the greatest witches and wizards were capable of such spellwork and combat. A great deal of attention was given to Professor Merrythought, but even he couldn't claim credit for it all. The Avantador siblings had been trained since they could stand firmly on two feet. With physical combat and 'accidental magic' (even children needed to defend themselves least the adults were down, their father said), and even wandless magic and non-verbal spells that were very difficult for even grown witches and wizards to do, the siblings- who had trained with each other many times anyway- were unstoppable.

Huge jets of light, shot out of their wands. Something which looked like a cross between lightning and fireworks. Smoke, mist, ice, fire- _fiendfyre- _which normally would have been banned but the siblings had learned to use a minor version- _Aqua Eructo_, both jumping around, spinning, shielding themselves, finding new things to throw at each other, creatively improvising and quickly planning, and strangely, not once did they utter the spell out loud. it was just as well, after all, with expert duellers, such as those in a tournament, non-verbal spells were the normality if not the requirement.

This was as much a test of physical combat as much as skill in defensive and attacking magic. So taking a great deal of their set time, the two dodged and threw spells at each other, using skilful, almost gymnastic-like in quality, manoeuvres which made everyone gasp in astonishment.

Rhaegar shot a jet of powerful lightning-like light. Athelinda defended herself with her own light, and threw fire at him. The safety rules had been bent for this one duelling match. She threw a smokescreen spell in front of herself to shield her from her brother's gaze while she threw another attacking spell in shots of light. But he saw and dodged that one, and she could hear someone clapping at her own ingenuity- sounded like Slughorn- and Rhaegar threw his own spells at her.

She spun and threw _fiendfyre_ yet again. Fire had never been a preferred weapon of hers, but now she wanted the duel to end- Rhaegar would never admit defeat and neither would she. She had to finish this, once and for all.

She had to become the winner.

Then she could achieve her goals.

But Rhaegar saw, and Rhaegar knew.

He extinguished it and threw a water spell at her, it came in a strong jet, but she could easily cast a shield charm. But that was what he was hoping for.

She had occupied herself with casting that charm for the water, and Rhaegar, using her distraction, aimed another spell and threw colourful sparks above her head where she didn't expect them to be. Startling her, the shield dropped and Rhaegar cast a trip-jinx.

Athelinda gasped as she felt herself being pulled off the ground, off her feet even. She landed on the floor on her back and the shock was enough to send her wand flying. Just before it could clatter on the floor, Rhaegar cast another spell which pinned her to the ground and prevented her from using wandless magic. She was trapped.

The duel had been won.

The winner was Rhaegar.

There was a shocked silence. And then Rhaegar released the spell that bound her. Then all of a sudden cheers erupted throughout the Great Hall, everyone was whooping and clapping so hard, it was a miracle no hands fell off. The headmaster and the teachers themselves forgot their roles and cheered as loud and hard as the other students.

* * *

The duel was over.

Athelinda, stunned (not magically), got up. She staggered to her feet as her brother used magic to transport her wand to her. She caught it numbly, still in shock.

What in hell happened?

Students came pouring in as the barriers around the duellers were let down. Gasping, Athelinda pulled herself to her feet as students ran towards them- her brother and her.

The winner and the loser.

Even Dippet was laughing and clapping with the rest. Slughorn was clapping enthusiastically and booming, "Well done, Athelinda, m'girl!" He even jumped in mid-air.

No one had ever seen a duel in Hogwarts itself of its like. And no one would ever see it again.

And Athelinda had declared herself the loser. Because she didn't think to realise that her brother might have used her own defensive tactics to occupy and then proceeded to diverge her attention again before using something as simple as a trick-jinx, and pinning her to the ground.

Her brother had won, and she had lost. Now history would record her the loser.

And history would say she bowed down before her brother's greatness.

Never would she usher in a new age of Camelot. It was not her. It would never be her. Instead it would be Rhaegar, if it was anyone that ushered in the new age.

And the ground, she wished would open up and swallow her whole. She slowly rose.

Students were flocking around her and determined to touch her, to pat her, to shake her hand, even _kiss _her. But she didn't care. Didn't notice their worshipping smiles, or hear their over-awed compliments.

All her great ideas, all her dreams were ground up to dust by the person she loved. And she would vanish, vanish into nothing and see nothing fulfilled.

She was still stunned as everyone congratulated her brother, and complimented her. Their congratulations were for him; he'd won entry into the tourney. And he was sure to win.

Athelinda accepted her brother's embrace numbly and felt his kiss, like a blessing, on her head. It spoke of love. But it was not a blessing.

But something came as an even greater shock to her- why she was surprised in the first place, she didn't know. It wasn't as if Rhaegar had never beaten her before.

"Rhaegar!" she remembered hearing someone cry out joyfully. "I knew you'd win!"

Ice hit her so hard she almost fell again. Normally she would have realised it was nothing more than a compliment for her brother's performance, but this time, after putting up such a fight...

She thought she had come close. But was she _really_ that inferior?

She remembered little of what came afterwards, only that she bathed and changed into fresh, clean robes. She didn't even try to listen to what other students were gushing to her about.

She walked slowly back to the Slytherin Dungeon. But she did not even have to get far before she, even in her numbed, shocked state, felt upon her.

The stare of eyes.

She was in the Entrance Hall, passing wandering aimlessly lost in her desolate, shocked, numb thoughts, before she returned to the Common Room and dormitory when she felt them. She turned her head over her shoulder.

There, next to a statue, stood a tall, dark-haired figure.

Tom Riddle watched her and it looked like his eyes would never leave.


	6. Chapter 6

_**"I had to force myself not to be overly-protective, because I had lost one child."**_

_**Diane Ladd**_

* * *

Andreas looked up from the letter.

He silently took a swig of his pumpkin juice- secretly mixed with a bit of mead, unbeknownst to his wife- and set it down, staring blankly ahead.

He had read Rhaegar's letter. He knew what it said.

Rhaegar had been proclaimed duelling champion and was on his way to the tournament.

And soon he would be on his way to the Armed forces.

All his children- including Rhaegar- was destined for great things, he felt it in his bones. And he didn't need to consult the vǫlva- their seer- to find out. She knew what she promised.

And Rhaegar would soon become a great- if not the greatest- warrior and leader. He would have a reputation to rival Arthur himself.

Katerina walked into the room, and stopped in her tracks once she saw him. "What?' she asked breathlessly.

Wordlessly, he handed her the letter and drank a swig of the juice again. He saw her deep, yet icy-clear, blue eyes- so much like Rhaegar's- widen when she read what their son had written.

"Is it true?" she asked. She clutched the table. Andreas took her hand. He stood and held her. "It's not our choice." He said quietly. "I'm taking him to the initiation ceremony anyway. He's finished his education. According to Dumbledore, who's written to me, he finished his NEWTs. He's already of age, and I have to take him to the annual gathering. He'll be accepted as an adult member of the Volsunga and soon he will start training for the Armed forces."

Katerina gasped and paled. He couldn't blame her. The forces had a brutal way of training, and if one survived…

But it wasn't as if Rhaegar hadn't encountered anything like this before. It was just the horror and the dread that he might have to again.

"This wasn't what was supposed to be!" his wife exclaimed pulling back.

Andreas sighed. "Then what? We were lucky to get him back, but did he truly come back? The boy we remembered is gone- forced to grow up least he never received that chance- forced to do and go through what no child should have had to. And when he came back, we were lucky to have him back sane, instead of just safe and sound. But something's happened to him that we can't reverse- and now he's a grown man whether you like it or not. They're all growing, and soon they'll leave." His voice turned bitter. "It's the way of the world. Better that then they stay behind and turn to rust in the home they grew up in.

"This is Rhaegar's choice," Andreas reminded his wife firmly. "And soon he will be in the Armed forces. I have no doubt he'll survive, and I'll pray every night for him to return. There is nothing more that we can do, but to trust in his competency and abilities."

Katerina turned away. "You've consulted the vǫlva haven't you?"

He didn't answer.

She asked him, "What did she say?"

He sighed. "What will happen will happen. But it's not Rhaegar's fate to die in battle, nor for the longed-for prophecy to gather dust in a shelf. It's going to happen. And I have a feeling our children- or even our grandchildren- will have a part in its making. She told me herself."

Katerina was silent. "Then make sure you put him in good hands. I want an instructor who isn't just interested in squeezing the moisture out of the cream and taking the good parts. Or in making money for himself. Someone who helps his own cadets and thinks of them as his honour and responsibility- and not a burden. I'm not asking him to coddle my son, but I want to know if he's on good hands and has been taught well."

"You'll have my word for it," Andreas said softly, before she left the room.

* * *

Rhaegar was Head Boy. And it looked like he had a promising career ahead of him.

His father had written to say that before long, he would take them to the clan's leaders and have him fully recognized as an adult. Then after the tourney, whether he won or lost, he would enter the training to become a cadet.

It was going to be hard and brutal, even. But it wasn't as if he had never experienced brutal regimens before.

So why did he feel uneasy?

It wasn't because the details of the training. It wasn't just because he would miss Hogwarts.

Something was about to happen.

Not to mention Philomena was about to start school in one more year. As soon as she was eleven, she would board the train and off to school she would go, and Rhaegar had no idea whether or not she would be alright.

And there was another thing that made him uneasy: his other sister.

Athelinda had not been herself soon after the duel. She was all quiet, and it seemed to Rhaegar that sometimes, lost in her own thoughts as she was, she was contemplating something- maybe she was even at war with herself over that whatever it was. She looked at him strangely- sometimes with fear and worry, other times with hurt, another kind of fear- or maybe even terror, and anger. Or rage. It changed so much he could hardly keep track.

She had put up the most splendid fight- he was hard-pressed. But although he and Athelinda had duelled together countless times; this time, it felt different. Something wasn't right.

Did she want to be duelling champion? Athelinda was ambitious. It was one of the traits that got her into Slytherin House, after all. She was exceptionally intelligent and ruthless in completing a challenge. But she was never open about _anything_\- not like she used to as a child- and kept her thoughts to herself- and her snakes.

Both he and Athelinda had been taken from their parents when they were small. But whilst Athelinda had been wrapped in the loving coils of a mother Naga, he had been snatched, flogged and tortured, and forced to do things he regretted. But both experiences had given them both something- the ability to survive even the darkest of places and situations. And for that he was grateful.

The war was still going. The Volsung clan's Armed forces would need him. But it was mostly a stalemate now, and everyone was trying to figure out how to break it. Grindelwald had established himself in Central and Eastern Europe and was now looking towards the west and north. The south would be safe- for now.

And once Europe was conquered… one could only imagine what came next. It was not a war they could afford to lose.

Rhaegar gripped his wand so tight that red and gold sparks flew out. He relaxed his grip, immediately realising that the sparks had fallen onto a trail of… _water_?

Rhaegar looked disgusted. Someone had left the taps running, didn't they? He could have easily waved his wand and cleared the water but he needed to get to the source first.

He followed the trail, and stopped dead.

Ice flooded everywhere and now he felt something which he had always so successfully mastered: _fear_.

For a student lay on the ground, her face contorted with an expression of shock, terror and dread that was forever imprinted onto Rhaegar's mind.

And above her, in blood, was writing.

* * *

The professors had come running; the caretaker too. Headmaster Dippet had run from his office, with his cloak half-fastened and his hat askew. The prefects had been summoned and the Head Girl too.

Shock was plastered all over their faces as they saw the scene: a girl frozen in a position of horror. The teachers and caretaker quickly took charge. The water was drained, the place roped off. The girl was carried off to the hospital wing for inspection. Her parents were to be immediately notified.

"She's not dead," Dumbledore said.

"What?" Dippet asked, startled.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "She has been petrified."

_Petrified?!_" was the response.

The prefects were ordered to take students back to their common rooms and dormitories to stay there until further notice was given by their heads of houses.

Jaw clenching tightly, face white, Rhaegar approached Dumbledore.

"Professor I-" he began.

"Hush," Dumbledore reprimanded softly. "Not here."

He guided Rhaegar to his office.

Once inside Rhaegar took a deep breath and expelled it. "Professor-" he began again.

"What did the writing on the wall say?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Rhaegar closed his eyes. "'After a nearly a thousand years, the Chamber of Secrets has finally been opened.' Professor, what is this? What _is_ the Chamber of Secrets?"

Dumbledore did not answer. He turned his back to Rhaegar and he took this opportunity of silence to say, "It was written in _blood_. Her blood, if we were to guess. Professor Kettleburn also told me that the school roosters have been strangled. What is this? Who is doing this, and what are they up to?" he was growing increasingly frustrated.

"One can only tell," Dumbledore said gravely. "What can you tell me about this girl? I mean what do you know about her?" Rhaegar looked bewildered.

"Nothing you probably don't know, Professor," he said. "She's in Ravenclaw, and a fourth-year. Her name is Amanda Prestford and she's a Muggle-born. Her parents are Muggles."

It was in that shocked realisation that Rhaegar believed she was the victim of some Pure-blood fanatic- possibly a Grindelwald supporter.

"Are they here?" he hissed. He gripped his wand tightly. "Grindelwald- do you think he may have gotten one of them here?" He looked ready to kill.

"I don't think so," Dumbledore said quietly. "I believe this is done by something or someone, far darker than Grindelwald."

"Darker than Grindelwald?" Rhaegar asked. "I doubt anyone could reach such a level, or has since nearly a thousand years." But when he said it, it struck him, that was what the writing had said- _nearly a thousand years._

Ice flooded through him again.

"Professor," Rhaegar repeated slowly. "What _is _the Chamber of Secrets?"

"A legend," Dumbledore said. "Or at least I used to believe."

"What... legend?" Rhaegar asked.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Then he looked up, without even turning to Rhaegar. "The founders," it was all he said.

Reverence and awe hit Rhaegar, just as it hit everyone else- or nearly everyone-

when they heard about the Founders of Hogwarts- the four of the greatest witches and wizards that had ever lived. The ones that had trained Merlin to greatness in his time, and Arthur.

But this time, he had other concerns.

"What about the founders?" he asked sceptically.

Dumbledore sighed. "The legend goes that Salazar Slytherin, after Hogwarts was completed, built a hidden chamber, deep below the castle."

More ice. But he mastered his fear, like he always did. "And," Rhaegar said slowly. "What was inside the chamber?"

Dumbledore was silent, and still as a statue for a moment. "A monster," was all he said.

Shock hit Rhaegar. Salazar Slytherin, Founder of Hogwarts, turning against his own fellow friends and founders, even his own students?

Never.

The problem was the founders lived nearly a thousand years ago. And the further back one went, the sparser the records became. Few actual facts were found regarding the lives of the legendary four. In fact, a few scholars believed they were nothing more than legend.

There was a cloud of mist that separated them in their own time from the Founders of Hogwarts. There were more legends and myths surrounding them than there were real facts. Some were known: Helga Hufflepuff being an inventor of many food charms, Rowena Ravenclaw creating the complex staircase plan, Godric Gryffindor acquiring a sword that was made by Ragnuk the goblin king and Salazar Slytherin training Merlin. That and a few other facts, were all they knew.

They were revered and held in awe for their legend, knowledge and power. But they were hardly seen as ordinary wizards and witches, except for a few notable magical historians who tried- unsuccessfully- to uncover the people behind the myths and legends. But the fact was that there was more to know about Ancient Greece, Atlantis and their legendary mages, than about the Hogwarts Four.

They lived in the time known as the Dark Ages- the reason why most Muggles, lacking the amount of magical proof wizards possessed- thought King Arthur was a mere legend.

"You are saying," Rhaegar said slowly. "That the Founders of Hogwarts actually _existed_? That they were more than just legend?" Dumbledore looked at him.

"'Just legend'?" Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. "And you do not believe, that someday, you may be considered 'just a legend', told to children to inspire and amuse? That your very existence and the existence of your accomplishments were nothing more than stories told around a camp-fire in the woods? No, the Founders of Hogwarts were real, as Merlin himself was. Who do you think taught him in the beginning?"

Rhaegar knew the answer. He simply needed confirming- to make sure it wasn't some dream. "Salazar Slytherin." Dumbledore nodded.

"That's right." His eyes twinkled. "A fact which your sister is undoubtedly proud of, I'm sure. That Merlin was taught within these very walls and slept in the very dungeons that she slept in. Merlin was perhaps the most brilliant student Hogwarts had ever seen- although we still hope someday, of knowing the privilege of teaching another."

"So what about them?" Rhaegar demanded. "They're not saying- that Salazar Slytherin built a secret chamber with a monster, are they? It can hardly be proven that he built something without the knowledge of his fellow founders and he lived nearly- if not roughly- a thousand years ago. How would anyone know? Furthermore, why would he do something like that? And even if he did, he can hardly be the one to open it himself, in this very moment!"

"So many questions," Dumbledore said heavily. "Yes, that is what we have- more questions than answers. But it's where all beginnings are like. The real question that concerns me is whether we will have the answers to those questions when the time passes, or if the amount of answers we have will be as limited to what we have right now. If so, than we may yet have a chance. If not…" he trailed off.

"Will this- _monster_\- attack again?" Rhaegar asked. "Or is this some student's-or intruder's- idea of causing havoc and mayhem among us, knowing that Hogwarts is considered the safest place in Britain, and knowing Grindelwald will turn his eye towards this country, sooner or later?"

There was a silence.

"I do not believe it is Gellert Grindelwald," Dumbledore said slowly. "He went to the Durmstrang Institute- as your mother can confirm. And he has never visited Hogwarts, as anyone can tell. But it is possible that someone is doing this to destabilise our sense of morale at the time when we need them most."

"A supporter?" Rhaegar demanded, alert.

"Time can only tell," Dumbledore replied, casting his eyes towards the window.

Then Rhaegar had to ask something else.

"You said that these were dark forces beyond the work of Grindelwald. If these were so dark and so powerful, it is clearly a threat. What other forces do you think there are?"

Dumbledore did not answer

* * *

Whispers spread throughout the school and it set Athelinda into a fire of rage.

The stories had begun to spread- after the attack on the Muggle-born girl. First the fools believed Grindelwald had infiltrated the castle. Then, they started saying that it was Salazar Slytherin- legendary wizard and the founder of Slytherin House- built something like a hidden chamber and placed a monster there.

The absurdity of it was not lost on Athelinda, even though it was on many fools throughout the school. And now they said that Salazar Slytherin was a Muggle-born hating tyrannical wizard and a lover of Dark Magic.

It was nearly all she could bear.

Worse of all, people had started to view the Slytherins with suspicion. She did everything in her power not to scream and rage, or curse these people who spread such stories. Just because some of them were pure-blood elitist idiots, does not mean that Slytherins were guilty!

Merlin was a Slytherin, trained by Salazar himself. He founded the Camelot Age, and the Order of Merlin which for centuries, protected Muggles from Dark Wizards, little as they deserved it. So why would Salazar Slytherin be guilty?! Why would any Slytherin?!

She threw down her books hard in rage when she heard a trio of students whispering everything. Startled, they looked at her, saw the colour rising in her cheeks and possibly remembered the duel with her brother, turned and fled, as fast as their legs could carry them. Good. Let them fear her, as long as they learned respect for them all.

"Upset?" a voice asked.

She turned to see Tom Riddle looking down on her with- was it concern?

"Why wouldn't I be?" she muttered, not bothering with artificial pretences. "Slytherin's name has been tarnished, and we are all viewed with suspicion. Soon the Ministry of Magic will be knocking on our doors- demanding to take each and every single one of us for questioning in Azkaban, to see if any of us are Grindelwald supporters."

"That will never happen," she looked up startled, as she sensed there was an undercurrent of anger in Tom's voice. She stared.

"What makes you think that?" she asked without thinking.

"_I_ will never let them," Tom said and there was something in his voice- the absence of which would have allowed her to laugh- that convinced her he would be capable of doing such a thing.

She sat back down, staring at him. They were in the library.

"You're in sixth-year." She said. "You're a student. They would never listen-"

"Yes they would." Tom said. Again there was that note.

"Well, maybe teachers can persuade them not to take us," she noted. Her mind went to Dumbledore. If there was anyone who actually _would_, it was him.

"We don't need the teachers," Tom Riddle said, his dark eyes glinting. They were as black as hers.

"We have ourselves; the young, the intelligent. The ones with enough ambition, intellect and will to change this world. This society, if you can call it that, is corrupt- rooted to its very core with weakness and a desire for their own purposes. They do not know or think that anything can be achieved in this society, and they do not want it to change. Not if it means handing their power- ill-gotten as it is- to another with enough strength, energy and brains to change the society for the better."

She sat there gaping and stunned.

Who was this boy?

"Things have to change," he went on. "Do you deny that?"

She didn't.

"Be careful how you talk," she hissed. "If anyone hears you-"

"They will suspect me of being a Grindelwald supporter," Tom said smoothly. He actually rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know."

"Is that the way things in this world are, then?" she asked, edgily, testily. "That you are either a Grindelwald supporter, or a fat, lazy corrupt ministry official?"

He smirked. "Well, that is the way things are supposed to be."

She looked at him icily. "Just because things are 'supposed' to be like this," she said, building in temper, but trying to keep it cool- and thus far successful-"does not mean they should be this way. We have the power and might to change the world. And why should anyone stop us?" she stood and placed her face closer to his. "Because they're afraid?" she asked softly.

He smiled.

She drew back, "Well, I suppose someone has to, don't they? So you will?"

"Why not?" he raised an elegant eyebrow.

She smirked. "Then go ahead," she gathered up her books and prepared to leave.

"We're Slytherins, Tom Riddle," she said. "Just like Merlin. We don't walk in anyone's shadow."

And with that double meaning, she left with him still staring.

* * *

Rhaegar had had it. His temper was frayed as it was.

Snapping at them to quieten up, he turned their attention towards him.

The Gryffindor Common Room was one of the cosiest places in the world- to him anyway- but this day, it did nothing to relax him.

It wasn't as if anything had been redecorated: it was still the same.

The round room was decorated with red tapestries embroidered with gold, portraits of famous Gryffindors (who were the only ones to notice that he looked ready to explode), soft, squashy armchairs, and handsome oak and chestnut furniture. There was a fire roaring in the grate but his mood didn't lessen- not this time.

He was ready to explode.

He glared at them while they took their time sitting down and intensified the glare further so many of their voices faltered and they ceased talking. A pity, he would have made an explosion out of his wand. But it would come soon enough.

"So," he said in a dangerous voice. They looked at him fearfully. They had never seen him like this. "You've decided to be somewhat lax in mannerisms, have you, now that there's a 'monster' loose and Quidditch matches have started up again?"

There was a silence. He glared further. They recoiled.

"No one gives a damn about how much points you win for Quidditch if you're going to lose them anyway. How dare you besmirch the name of the House of Gryffindor with your behaviour?"

He sounded so dangerous, many of them paled.

He glared at them, looking each and every single one of them in the eye.

"We are at war," he reminded them in a voice so frightening, they would never forget, unless memory charms were employed. "Currently, forces are struggling abroad and you sit here, gossiping and insulting your fellow students whom you've seen every day for the entire time that you've lived here!" his voice had gone louder in volume and was now openly shouting.

"So you would turn over your fellow students at the first given moment, isn't that right?" he asked, terrifying them further. "As long as they aren't in Gryffindor? Or maybe you just want them out of the way so you can win the House Cup?"

Several students stuttered in protest. Many tried to say something but quailed under his gaze.

"You should indeed be ashamed of yourselves, if what Rhaegar said is true," A voice near the portrait hole said.

Everyone's head turned to see Professor Dumbledore, transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House looking grave.

"Professor Dumbledore," Rhaegar said. "I was just saying-" Dumbledore held out a hand.

"I understand," he said gravely. "And I fully support your reasons." He looked sternly at them, but also seemed to have compassion.

"Hogwarts," he began. "Is a school where young minds and talents are nurtured. It is also a place where they are able to meet for the very first time, and to make friends whom they would normally have never made if they had gone to a smaller school or stayed at home. Does it matter if one student sleeps in a tower and another in a dungeon? Does it matter if one student hangs red banners and another green? Here you have the opportunities to make friends to last a lifetime, and trust me when I say, that these are the greatest friends of all."

He looked at each of the students in the eye as he said this. And their gazes all dropped. They looked ashamed and guilty.

"I do not want to hear you committing such prejudice again," Dumbledore said sternly and quietly. "And I do not want to hear about you turning against the people who are here to support you, and whom you are meant to support in such times of peril. We are at war, and at any day, Grindelwald may invade and cost us the lives of millions, as he is doing elsewhere. In such times, we need to be unified. United we stand, divided we fall. And the day we cast suspicion upon our fellow friends and allies, is the day when we have isolated ourselves, and made it easy for us all to fall prey to such evil.

"In this time, I hope I have made you understand, that in such dangerous times, if we want to prevail and live the way we wish, we must have faith in our friends- including the ones we rarely speak to. The House of Godric Gryffindor has never been biased in whom it supports in admission to the school- and despite the many stories and legends that surround it, there has never been actual proof that the house of Salazar Slytherin did either."

The whole room had gone quiet. Gazing at each of the students, who looked chastised, Dumbledore turned, nodded to Rhaegar and left. Rhaegar took one contemptuous look at his fellow Gryffindors, for good measure, and left as well, going out of the portrait hole.

He strode out, struggling to catch up with the professor. "Professor!" he called out.

Dumbledore stopped. "That was a very noble thing you did, Rhaegar," he said. "And I don't think you were doing it just because one of them is your sister."

"No," Rhaegar looked down. "I admit, I felt rather bad for them- after all, even if the culprit _was _of them, it does not mean the rest of the house are guilty."

"No," Dumbledore smiled for the first time that day.

"And everyone should be given a chance to explain themselves," Rhaegar continued.

He sensed Dumbledore's approval.

Rhaegar sighed. "I have been researching on the stories about the Founders," he admitted. "And few of them offered me consistent facts- most were just stories. With no actual proof, or any backing of evidence from other sources."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. He sighed.

"But I _did_ find something," Rhaegar persisted. "And it sparked my interest- and raised more questions. Years after the school was completed and gained renown- Salazar Slytherin disappeared. The book said that he went missing and was never found. There is no mention of him after that."

"I should think not," Dumbledore said slowly. "It is all very suspicious. Unfortunately, we are not able to find out more. Salazar Slytherin is long gone, and the details of his life are, in most part, lost to us. "

Rhaegar sighed. "One would think," he said. "That four pf the most academically brilliant witches and wizards in history would have documented s_omething _about their own lives. Instead, they deemed it enough to name the houses after them." He shook his head. "There have been three attacks. All of them petrified. How strange is that? They have no injuries, no deaths, but they're…. _frozen_... in horror. The only thing I can think of with a similarity is the _Avada Kedavra_, except that they are very obviously, not dead."

"Yes," Dumbledore said regretfully. "It is just like that, except that it is not."

"Do you really think that it's a monster? Or the work of a wizard?" Rhaegar asked. "I don't believe any student could do this by themselves. This is beyond any magic ever performed by adults."

"You are keeping an open mind," Dumbledore said approvingly. "That is very good. Most people would jump on the rumours and the myth."

Rhaegar laughed slightly. "I am not '_most people_' professor. I have a tendency to step back and think outside my square. I consider other people's thoughts and feelings and the actions they would take."

"Which is why you would make such a great leader." Dumbledore said. "You know no such favouritism, nor prejudice, and you take others into consideration, placing them above yourself."

Rhaegar looked startled. "Me? A leader, Professor, surely-" he trailed off. This was sounding eerily like his father. He had high hopes for him.

"And that lack of arrogance, and surety in yourself, is what will make you a good one," Dumbledore acknowledged with a curiously wistful look. "Tell me Rhaegar, did your father ever speak to you about leadership?"

Rhaegar blinked. "He did… more than once," he reluctantly admitted. "But I just can't understand why he wants _me _to be a leader. Of course, many parents have dreams on what their child will be, but it's as if it is less of a want, and more of a_ need_\- as if something else would happen if I don't fulfil that role." He looked at Dumbledore in frustration. "It's not as if I'm the unfortunate descendant of Arthur everyone keeps waiting for, destined to fulfil the prophecy."

Dumbledore sighed. "Only time can tell if that prophecy will happen in our lifetimes."

Rhaegar looked grim. "But Grindelwald wants it. He wants to have the descendants of Arthur found. Does he want to control this universal Utopia and place wizards in charge? Or eradicate any possibility that Muggles and wizards may live together in peace?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Alas, if only we knew what goes on inside Grindelwald's mind."

"He's costing us greatly, sir. My father keeps writing to me of the reports. So many are dead."

Dumbledore himself looked deadened. "Yes," he said quietly. "It's time to act."

* * *

Athelinda bit her lip.

She might have misjudged Tom Riddle.

She admitted that.

The boy appeared to have shared her dreams and ambitions. In him, maybe she found a kindred spirit.

Maybe there was a reason why they were more like followers than friends- because they felt he was a leader- that he had what it took- strength, will-power, brains and talents- to lead. At the same time, maybe he was so distant- so isolated, and detached from them because he never really belonged.

Like her.

She was more comfortable with snakes than with giggling fluttery girls who gossiped and discussed only fashion and boys. She never liked the stares she received and the attention the boys gave her was unwanted. Domestic life would hold her down as she would not have a chance to live before her life was set in a familiar pattern and she would fade into obscurity- as if she was good at nothing else.

Boys tended to underestimate her- even covet her. It was disgusting. As if she was nothing more than such an object. All those giggling, fluttery girls who obsessed about boys more than they themselves would ever obsess about girls, were an embarrassment. It was because of fools like them- needy, vain, insecure and hopelessly enamoured with the idea of romance itself- that boys tended to look down upon them. It was a weakness which she swore never to fall for. She had more pride and dignity than that.

But she never thought that Tom Riddle underestimated her. She never really noticed him until recently, but she knew he didn't think her a fool like all the others- her actions would prove that, and her mind. She never saw him covet a girl either. Or go out with any of them, only to move onto another. Why did girls obsess so much over boys when they themselves, were too absorbed in other matters- if not just themselves- to reciprocate? They did not seem to realise that they might be little more than an amusement to all those who liked to throw their charm around for the sake of a pretty girl.

She would never be like that. And she hoped Philomena never would. She was certain she taught her sister to be better than that. It would be a disgrace to the family name if she didn't.

But what did Tom _really_ want?

It irked her.

And at the same time, he appeared to be more than she previously thought, which intrigued her. She hated to admit it, but now she was interested, almost to the point of being nosy. It was none of her business.

Sighing, she closed her eyes (she was leaning against a pillar) enjoying the sunshine. For once she was outdoors.

"Relaxing, are we?" she heard his now-familiar voice.

Athelinda opened her eyes and turned her head slightly.

"Oh, it's you," she said in a tone that was meant to be dismissive, even bored. "What is it now? I'm already in the Slug Club. What are you trying to recruit me for?"

"Recruit you?" Never had Riddle sounded more alarmed.

"Mmmmm," she said. "I'm not daft, you know. And neither are you. Or at least, that's what everyone tells me. So I'll say this one more time, and no more than that: I will never walk in anyone's shadow."

There was a moment of quiet. "No," Tom breathed quietly. "I don't think you would."

"You had best believe that." She looked at him coldly. "Since everyone is talking about Salazar Slytherin, I might as well say: there were four founders- and they were all revered as equals- none greater than the other. If my brother must go to greatness- than I shall do so in my own way." She smirked. "No, I did not think you were stupid, Tom."

Tom Riddle was about to say something when a green head appeared from around the hem of her robes. He watched in astonishment as it slithered up, and rested itself on her shoulder. The snake was warming itself in the sun.

Athelinda opened her black eyes again and regarded him. There was power in her gaze- and coldness. Of that she was certain, due to the way Tom Riddle was regarding her quietly.

"You are clever," she said. "But you have yet to notice things that I keep hidden." The snake and the girl both regarded him.

"You keep it?" Tom asked astonished.

"Surprised?" She asked. "A cat, an owl or a toad does not suit me. I prefer a snake. In any case they are more comforting and trustworthy as companions than humans- I can relate."

Tom looked at her wide-eyed. So she had succeeded in shocking and impressing him. "You're a Parselmouth," he said, astonished, the realisation hitting him.

"Surprise indeed," she said lazily leaning her head back and closing her eyes again. But she regarded him between her eyelids. "I told you, I have reasons not to be in _anyone's_ shadow."

Tom spoke in hushed, almost excited tones. "Is that in your family?"

She let out a mocking laugh. But it didn't sound as scornful as it should and Riddle's face was almost… stunned.

No, he _was_.

"No," and she proceeded to tell him the story of her birth and infancy. He stood stock-still as she related the tale.

"Surprised now?" she asked.

He regarded her thoughtfully. It was almost in wonder. "Athelinda," he breathed quietly. "You _are _a wonder."

And there was something in his voice that astounded her, although she tried to hide it, but it made her brow furrow. There was something other than the soothing charm he employed on the teachers and the other students. At any rate, she had hoped to earn people's respect and was thus glad to have earned his awe.

It reminded her of her power. And she needed little more than what she already had.

She was glad.

This boy might not be so bad after all.

* * *

_**Well, I'm wondering what you think about her! I'm desperate to make her relatable, even possible to admire Athelinda, but I'm desperate also not to make her a Mary Sue! In fact, she has serious flaws- understandable, maybe, but it's obvious, why she would start to regret her actions later on in life, isn't it? Clearly, we all know who Tom Riddle is, and we know his motives- she's impressed him, intrigued him and he might be developing an obsession with acquiring her, if not more. Yet she's ambitious, and is becoming increasingly blind to which are her ideals and which are her own personal ambition. She might even be someone you care for, but want to slap as well. **_

_**And yeah, I know the Atlantis thing is- well, are there any words to describe it? But Isn't it strange that they live in underground communities alongside Muggles? And there is little doubt- Muggles have learnt to fly- what ground-breaking innovations do wizards and witches have since something like that happened? When Harry was in Hogwarts, he listened to radios. Where's the T.V equivalent for wizards? And trains, buses and cars are Muggle inventions- why did they have to **_**modify**_** them instead of making something of themselves? They need to get a hold of themselves! As awesome as their world is, it can always get even better!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**"'Would I?'….'I had proven, as a very young man, that power was my weakness and my temptation….'"**_

_**Albus Dumbledore**_

* * *

Athelinda glided through the corridors, like a queen in her own castle.

She smiled to herself at that idea.

"You shouldn't be out wondering on your own," a voice came behind her.

It was Tom Riddle and he looked somewhat pleased to come across her.

She smirked.

"I'm a prefect and I'm on patrol," she said, twirling her wand out idly. And if the 'monster' comes to me, then it, or anything else, will know to fear me."

"Is that what you want then?" Tom stepped closer to her. "To inspire fear from everyone around you?"

"Only the ones that might wish me harm," she said lazily. "Those that don't- well, why should I?"

"Because then they will revere you," Tom said. She made a derisive noise.

"Fear isn't respect, and that's what everyone really wants." She said. "The ones I respect I will never harm. The ones I really respect deeply, I will listen. Others may follow them," she said with a shrug. "I will lend them support."

"But you won't follow them?" Athelinda's lips curled slightly at his response.

"Am I cattle?" she asked. "To follow a herdsman to be milked for his benefits, herded back to a cowshed and expected to be content with grass and hay? To accept to be slaughtered for meat when the time comes?" she raised an eyebrow. "No one will exploit me," she said. "Those that are smart and strong enough will never be exploited."

"You're a very philosophical person," Tom remarked. He stood straight after leaning against the wall. An odd position for the usually formal and polite Tom Riddle.

"But I suppose you're right," he said. He knew it, and she saw it too. He had come to respect her. For her power, most likely. She was beginning to like this boy.

"But why are you being held back?" he asked, black eyes glinting.

She took a step back. "No one's holding me back," she exclaimed outraged.

Tom sighed. "You do realise you aren't the only one? I saw you duel with your brother. I see you confiscating dangerous items from students, telling them off for going out at night, dragging them to Slughorn or Dippet for sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest. I see you reporting Hagrid's doings to your own brother," he said. "I had first been looking at myself, and then I compared my situation to yours, and I wondered if the job of prefect is really an honour after all."

"Of course it is," she looked alarmed. "It's an honour _and _a responsibility."

"And a burden," Tom said, coming to stand behind her. "We're still in the school, dealing with the mess teachers can't be bothered to clean up and the reason we're allowed to have some form of power and authority, is just so we can contain the mess and let the teachers relax a bit."

Athelinda couldn't say anything.

"In the meantime, I hear your brother is going to have a splendid time leaving once this year's up, and he's got a career in Volsung's military."

Athelinda stared at him. "Well, yes," she stammered.

"He will probably be a commander soon enough," Tom said. "Knowing him. Jumping ranks by receiving promotions. Receiving rewards and honours. Oh, he'll deserve it. But he gets to live."

What shocked Athelinda was that Tom Riddle sounded… _bitter_?_ Envious_?

She was shocked into silence.

"You… wish to be like him?" she asked hesitantly.

"I wish to go my own way," he looked at her. "I love it here at Hogwarts. And I hate to leave for the summer holidays. But I'm still a student. Your brother won't be that for long. He'll go on campaign, explore the world- meet people I have never been able to meet. Many of them do, if they're wealthy enough."

It shocked Athelinda. Tom had been so accepted by his fellow students, even by members of the elite pure-blood families who have a great deal of money. _They _generally looked down on everyone else and envied and sought to gain advantage over those richer than them. How did this boy earn their respect then, if he was not wealthier than they?

For the first time, Athelinda found herself wondering at this boy's background. It was something she would generally rather not do. Partly because it was none of her business, but mostly because she had better things to do. Most of all though, she felt it was far beneath her.

"You'll have plenty of advantages once you've left." She said. "You are one of the best students- that's fact."

Tom's lips twitched. "Maybe. But the ministry tends to prefer the ones who come from wealthy, advantaged backgrounds with a good family name. How many Riddles do you know work for any government?"

She sighed. "Well, then that just has to change." Her eyes took on a steely look.

"But it won't be easy," she said. "I may be one of the elite- an Atlantean as well, but I've never accepted convention. This will be something against me." She gave him a wry smile. "But you had better start doing something yourself, Tom. I very well won't even if I could." She smirked.

"I know what you're trying to do."

"I'm not trying to do anything," he said mildly surprised.

"Yes you are," she said. "I don't have to be a legilimens to find out. I know who you are Tom Riddle, at least to the other members of the school. People flock to you, and they go to your shadow. You tell them to do whatever you want and they will not hesitate.

"You are very prescient," he remarked. "But you misunderstand me."

She sighed.

"You're a difficult one," he remarked. "But do you want me to convince you?"

She smirked further. "How?"

He had a gleam in his eye.

"Hogsmeade," he said easily. They had been given permission to have visits there once more. "Two o'clock, Saturday."

She looked sceptical, but at the same time, there was a glint in her eyes.

She would be there. But she may have found a kindred spirit- although it will take some convincing. She would never be lower than him.

* * *

Rhaegar looked haunted.

There were dark circles under his eyes. His skin looked pale. Willamar noticed sitting from the Hufflepuff table.

"Are you alright?" he asked when he walked over to him.

"Fine," Rhaegar said. He was lying.

Willamar sighed. 'Rhaegar…"

"Don't 'Rhaegar' me," he snapped. Willamar frowned. "You had a bad dream, didn't you," Rhaegar closed his eyes, a flush creeping up his face.

"It was nothing," he said with a stone edge.

"It was not nothing," Willamar said softly. "You know it never is."

Rhaegar looked down. He wasn't fooling him.

"Was it the time they whipped you?" Willamar asked even more softly after a while. "Or the time they used the cruciatus curse on you?"

Rhaegar looked up at him and gave him a bitter smile. "The time they turned me into a monster," he said simply.

In other words, the time they made him kill an innocent for the first time.

Willamar didn't say anything for a while.

"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly.

Rhaegar didn't say anything.

"Dumbledore told me," he said slowly after a while. "That I would be suited for leadership. He's wrong."

"You're not a monster, you aren't even the same person they brutalized," Willamar said, sitting down beside him.

"Aren't I?" Rhaegar asked. "What if I become one? With power at my disposal…" he shook his head. "It's not worth the risk."

Willamar was silent. He couldn't dispute that.

"It's your choice," was all he said, before he rose and turned to walk back to the Hufflepuff table.

Rhaegar watched him go.

Dumbledore was wrong. What happened to him years ago changed who he was and who he should have been. No one could trust him.

Not even himself.

Looking, without even seeing, inside his goblet, Rhaegar swirled its contents. Pumpkin juice. But it wasn't juice he saw.

The juice darkened from orange to red. He saw a reflection of someone inside the liquid- not a seventeen, almost eighteen year-old student, ready to leave school and enter the academy as a soldier.

But a boy.

A boy with blue eyes and black hair, swirling around in matted clumps around his white face. One eye was badly swollen and bruised, and there was blood splashed on his face in crimson streaks.

Rhaegar looked up. Instead of the Great Hall, instead of the House tables, with students chatting, sitting at breakfast with more students walking in, he saw something else:

A burning settlement; shacks, bungalows, cottages and lodges, many of them made of wood, ripped out and torn with the pieces lying on the muddy ground.

There were puddles, some were water, others blood. Some were a mixture of both.

Rhaegar looked up and stood from where he'd been crouching. A body lay in front of him: a young man. He was strong, healthy, in his twenties. His blond hair lay strewn, caked with water, mud and blood. His face was blank and his green eyes looked sightlessly at the sky. His blood stained Rhaegar's front.

Rhaegar calmly walked past the man's decapitated corpse, wand in one hand, sword swinging lifelessly in another. He feared no opponent- nor survivor seeking vengeance, no fighter ready to save anyone else from dying.

The fires burned. They had ordered them lit. Rhaegar picked up a burning log and tossed it onto the nearest house-a small lodge. He lit his wand's tip with flames and threw it onto another lodge that stood too intact for his liking.

Two of his comrades held a woman down. She was screaming, dress soaked in blood. Their snarls only terrified her. Her blue dress was ripped and torn, and so were the skin on her legs. The mud would infect her.

Rhaegar walked over to her, emotionlessly. He lit his wand again. He threw the flames onto the woman.

The woman screamed as the fire caught her dress. She screamed as the flames, fuelled by the magic of the caster, rose higher and gained power. She screamed as it engulfed her, like the witches of old.

Rhaegar looked into her eyes- agony and terror within them. And for the first time, he felt something.

Horror and revulsion. And it stunned him because before then, he had always been so calm.

"Rhaegar- _Rhaegar_!" Rhaegar looked up startled from his goblet.

The Head Girl, Marguerite, looked at him in concern.

"Are you alright?" it took more than a second for him to recover his wits.

"Fine," he lied. "What's wrong?"

She frowned. "Nothing's wrong. I was just reminding you of our newly assigned duties before we escort the students to Hogsmeade." Her brow furrowed in concern.

Rhaegar looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, I was distracted. I have a bit on my mind lately."

"We all have," she smiled in understanding. Rhaegar looked away. He didn't deserve it.

Didn't deserve any of this.

"Well, I asked Professor Dumbledore and he said that we should wait at the entrance and escort the students to the train," she looked sceptical. "Then we are to escort them back to the castle and to their common rooms."

"I think they brought back the Hogsmeade visits to get the children out of the castle," Rhaegar said dryly. "Not to mention, to take our minds off everything."

"Yes," she responded. "Well, if it works." Marguerite nodded to him and walked away.

Rhaegar watched her go. She didn't deserve this.

He felt repulsed for every one of them, knowing they have to sit and interact with a monster.

With him.

* * *

Rhaegar felt the winds swirling around him and struggled not to scowl.

He had been looking forwards to this- but the weather was abominable.

Arriving at the Hog's Head, he stamped his feet to get rid of the snow and the cold that still clung. Shaking his head he looked up.

Willamar was there. A few of his friends- Rhaegar was glad to see them.

Sitting down with them, tankards of butterbeer were presented soon after, steaming-hot. The foam on its surface looker heavenly. He drank deeply.

"Anyone seen Athelinda?" One of them- Marcus- asked. He frowned. "I asked her to meet with me on Tuesday, she said she would. I haven't seen her since."

Rhaegar frowned. "What?"

"Is she sick?" he asked.

Rhaegar blinked. "Not that I know of."

He exchanged a look with Willamar.

Marcus frowned. "Well, if you see her, please let her know."

Willamar looked uneasy. Athelinda had an excellent memory. And he was certain he saw her on the way to Hogsmeade.

After the Three Broomsticks, the boys decided to go to yet another pub- just for fun. Rhaegar wondered if he had a death wish, in order to drown himself and forget what he tried to forget.

If only they made it.

But he saw her.

She was walking down a familiar path, to the Shrieking Shack.

And unusually- she wasn't alone.

Tom Riddle walked next to her.

* * *

"Was this what you wanted to show me?" she asked. She had seen this many times.

He smirked. "No, I want you to see it. See it for what it truly is."

"An old run-down shack filled with rumours of malevolent ghosts," she said bluntly.

He laughed. "No, a window of possibilities."

"Possibilities for pranks, and a hideout for mischief?" her eyes twinkled.

He grinned. "Merely a place for secrets."

He held out his hand. She hesitated, warring with herself. But if Tom Riddle was rash, impulsive and incapable of even taking care of herself, her mother was a fire-crab. She smiled wonderingly and took it.

Together they walked down the slope.

The snow crunched beneath Athelinda's shoes. Her cloak swirled comfortingly around her, its collar was ermine, and it was black with silver embroidery. Her snow-shoes were as stylish and elegant as they were durable, and her gloves were dragon-skin trimmed with down. She was not by nature, a showy person, but she was elegant. And she could easily afford her clothes which were the most expensive and of the highest quality.

She looked at Tom.

He on the other hand, was _not_ shabby, nor did he wear anything with patches, frays and worn threads, but impeccable as he looked, as immaculate as his black hair, gleaming in the winter sun was, she realised he was wearing second-hand clothing for the very first time. No one else would have been able to see it, but the clothes seemed more preserved than anything. He kept them clean and looking fresh and they were nicely kept, but the black of his cloak was not as rich and deeply vibrant as hers, nor was it as expensive in material.

Who was this boy?

Who was he to command such respect from his fellow students, many of whom came from elitist wealthy families, to worship him?

It confused her more than anything. What bewildered her even more was that she was no longer jealous.

No, she saved that for Rhaegar.

She refused to think about that.

Tom Riddle stopped when they came up to the house.

He took held her hand still and went round, to the back of the house. The house itself was made of torn, chipped pieces of wood, with paint peeled off, save for a few flakes. There were countless holes and the pieces of wood were hanging off. There windows and doors were boarded up.

"No violent spirits?" she asked. "The Bloody Baron told me that not even they dare go near this place. Not even Peeves."

He smirked.

"That is nothing but a rumour," he said mildly. "Although it does serve to our advantage."

"The shrieks-" Athelinda began.

"Are caused by magic, by wind and by other natural phenomena." Tom said smoothly. Not bothering to explain. He drew his wand.

Muttering the incantation, several wood boards came off. Dropping to the floor with a small _thunk_, it revealed a gaping black hole, big enough to go through if they bent slightly down. Still holding her hand, Tom went in first, followed by Athelinda, who tried not to do something as ludicrous and undignified as tripping.

He smiled.

When they straightened, Athelinda saw that the house looked, just as she always assumed it did. Only there were no ghosts- no sign of any sentient creature, living or dead. Nothing amortal such as a poltergeist or a Dementor either. She frowned. It was shabby, dark, slightly unnerving- not to mention dirty and dust-ridden- but silent and empty save for the two students.

"What have you been doing here Tom?" she asked him, suspiciously.

Tom smiled.

"This way. And don't worry, I've cast a charm on the stairs so we don't fall."

He took her all the way up the stairs. Apparently true to his word, they did not fall, even though the stairs certainly creaked.

Athelinda could not help but feel excitement.

"Here we are," Tom said, holding his wand aloft. He lit it with a murmur of "_lumos._"

Athelinda looked around. She blinked. The place was dark, so she too, had had to light her wand. It was a dusty as the rest of the house. It also had soot-stains from a fire-place, long out of use. There was a four-poster bed, falling to bits, the mattress, comforter and the sheets moth-eaten along with the curtains. She suspected only fleas slept there now. The sofa too, was moth-eaten, and the coffee-table looked ready to fall, and was covered in soot as well. Probably the ashes blown from the fireplace.

"Strange," she murmured. "I don't see anything unusual."

Tom smirked. He waved his wand in a circular motion, the dust motes scattering as something began to shimmer right in front of them.

She froze as several shelves, bookcases, unique artefacts and vials of liquid came into view. She gasped- she couldn't help it. She came forwards.

There was a jewelled necklace and a matching bracelet. There were books with intriguing titles that promised magical secrets. There were silver teapots, cream jugs, sugar bowls and teacups and matching spoons, all ornately carved with beautiful symbols which promised… something. Her eyes widened as she regarded the instruments: there was something that looked like silver ladles set in a stem of the same metal, in a stand filled with water. A neat feather quill with a curling end and a very sharp tip, in black, which she suspected was enchanted somewhat, maybe even cursed. But the most fantastic of all was also the most repulsive. It was a severed hand, rotting and slimy-grey, its muscles eaten away and its veins and arteries bulging and resembling earthworms and maggots more than anything, eating away at the grey. Its fingernails had turned black and it was thin as it its juices had been drained from it, and it probably was.

"A Hand of Glory," Tom spoke softly. He was eying Athelinda, without her knowing this whole time, with a gleam in his eyes, similar to greed and a desire for… something. "It gives light only to the holder if they should put a candle in it to hold.

"Magnificent," Athelinda breathed, not caring if any inferior person were to think that she was insane for liking such a thing. It wasn't pretty, but it had unusual power. Like her.

"There's something else," Tom said. He went to a shelf and took out a box. He laid it out in front of her. She went over to him, looking eagerly at the box.

He opened the lid. There appeared to be wriggling coiled mass of… something.

They were snakes, or rather, one snake. A three-headed one. It was a runespoor, six and half feet long by the looks of it and striped in orange and black like a tiger. Its three heads looked up sleepily. The clever left head looked suspicious, but Tom gave a soothing hiss.

Athelinda looked up startled. "You're a parselmouth!" Tom smiled at her. It was a genuine smile, nothing like what she gave to the professors and the caretaker. Nothing what she assumed he gave either. But there was something in his dark eyes that made her feel even less suspicious.

"Hold out your hand." Tom instructed softly. She hesitated. These were rare. She had never interacted with runespoors before. In fact she wasn't even sure if it was legal to bring them out of Africa. But she held out her hand. Tom took it. It was warm, she thought with mild surprise. He smiled and guided her hand to the box.

She flinched inwardly- snakes didn't like jerking movements, so she knew better. But the runespoor raised its three heads. Tom gave several hisses. She knew what he said.

"_She is a friend," _he said._ "And a speaker. She will never harm you."_ He smiled again, looking back up at Athelinda. _"I trust her."_

Stunned by that statement, she allowed her hand to relax, in time for the middle head to raise itself along with the left and nuzzle her gently. The right looked suspicious, but grudgingly did the same.

She smiled, and laughed softly. The snake kept nuzzling her with its three heads. She glorified in the liquid feel of its scales. Tom's hand- which still held hers- was stroked and rubbed too.

The two smiled and chuckled softly, allowing the runespoor to enjoy their attentions, stroking and rubbing it.

"It must be kept quiet," Tom said softly. "If anyone were to find it they would deem us dark wizards and we would likely be thrown to Azkaban."

Athelinda was silent. People viewed parselmouths as dark wizards, due to the connection with Herpo the Foul. It was a prejudice as much as the prejudice against Muggle-borns. But they would never be given a fair trial, if anyone knew of their secret, which was why her mother warned her to keep quiet about her infancy and birth. She should have felt remorse about not heeding her warnings, but she didn't care. The world was blind and full of fools.

She stroked the heads absently. She and Tom smiled at each other.

Athelinda spent some time discussing with Tom about the artefacts in the room, the books and so forth. They were full of unusual magic, not necessarily dark, but viewed with suspicion.

"I feel sorry for it," she said softly, referring to the runespoor. "We're three of a kind. People don't understand us, so they fear us. They hate us. For all wizards say about Muggles-" she spat out the word "- they are themselves blinded and fools. They fear those with great power, and if they do not envy, then they fear to seek it." She looked disgusted.

"Yes," Tom said softly. He looked at her.

"You hate dark magic though," he said conversationally.

"Who doesn't?" she asked. "I'd sooner kiss a dragon, than consort with monsters who are willing to twist themselves and use me for their own gain. I'm a Volsunga. We haven't forgotten."

Tom regarded her silently. "Then no one will use you," he said. There was respect in his voice. "No one is that mad. And no one will be. I wouldn't let them. And neither would you."

"Yes," she nodded in satisfaction.

But it was then she started to feel strangely with his black eyes on hers.

"We should get back," There was a note of regret in his voice. He stood up. "They will have to take us back to Hogwarts."

"Yes," she said. She also stood. "Will it be alright?" she asked looking worriedly at the box in Tom's hands.

He shrugged. "It has enough food and more than enough water. And it's told me it's comfortable. I've placed a heating charm. It's used to the African climate."

She smiled and nodded. Tom led the way out.

They were once again in the cold. He lifted his wand muttered an incantation and the boards lifted and sealed themselves back to where they were before.

Together they climbed the slope, shoes and boots leaving a pattern in the deep white snow.

"Here," Tom extended his hand. He helped her up. Together they walked to where the other students were waiting.

Later in the castle, he gently grabbed her shoulder before she turned and left.

"Good night," he said quietly. She gave a smile.

He looked regretful as she walked away, back to the direction of their common room. Unaware not twenty inches away he was watched by Rhaegar.

* * *

Rhaegar saw that look and smouldered in hate, before turning and striding away, the blood rising inside of him.

Furiously, Rhaegar stormed all the way to Gryffindor Tower. He was flushed with rage.

How dare he?

How dare Tom Riddle?

He barked the password to the Fat Lady, who seemed taken aback by his unusual rudeness and marched all the way to the boy's dormitory and his personal bedroom adjacent to it.

Flushing with rage, he sealed the door, and threw a chest full of his homework against the wall.

He had an urge to kill Tom Riddle, like he did to all the rest of them.

Athelinda started being seen more and more with Tom Riddle. They did not behave inappropriately, but Rhaegar suspected enough.

His blood burned as he regarded the two of them standing with Tom Riddle one evening after lessons were finished.

He had to remind himself not to kill.

He had turned from that path a long time ago.

Just then a student ran into the Great Hall, just before dinner was being served. It was the Head Girl, Marguerite.

"What?" he asked, looking rather bewildered.

"Another student has been attacked." She said grimly. "Whatever is attacking them, they're still being dealt with."

Cursing, Rhaegar looked at Gryffindor House. Then he looked at the other houses. We should summon a prefect's meeting," he said grimly.

"Tell the others you can find." His brother and sister, prefects for their respective houses were two of them. The others, including Tom Riddle would have to listen.

He made a face that spoke of disgust. They would just have to put aside their differences, for now.

Rhaegar didn't have much time left.

He knew that he would have to be initiated and recognised as an adult by the Volsunga leaders before he turned eighteen.

But he wasn't going to leave Hogwarts in danger.

"As you know there have been attacks," Marguerite said slowly.

Rhaegar grunted. His mood was bad enough.

"Well they are becoming more and more concerning." Marguerite continued.

"The ministry is enquiring and soon they will send representatives, aurors, beast-handlers and so forth. They'll be searching this whole castle up and down, so be prepared to let them into the common rooms and dormitories."

"The common rooms?" asked Tom Riddle. "And the dormitories?" he looked displeased.

Rhaegar was about to snap at him. He barely had any patience. He bit his tongue.

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Every one of them."

"They think the monster is hiding beneath someone's bedsheets?" asked the Ravenclaw prefect, Mathew Summers.

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Well what did you expect? They're searching for clues as well."

"For what?" he heard his sister spit. She looked ready to mutilate and murder.

"For them to come into our common rooms and dormitories, invading students' privacies, ready to find out whoever's behind this?" she looked enraged, more enraged than Rhaegar had ever seen her. He was troubled.

"Athelinda," he began.

"Why? Because they naturally assume _we're_ the culprits?" Athelinda hissed. "Because of some disgusting myth?"

"Athelinda," Rhaegar said sharply.

"So naturally we're the guilty ones," she went on. "All of us. So the ministry morons just won't let it go?"

"Athelinda," he was now raising his voice.

She wasn't going to let him have any influence over her anymore.

No matter what her tone, even if it was inappropriate.

"We don't like it either," said Marguerite, before the two siblings could come to blows. Willamar looked alarmed and troubled.

"But we have no choice." She finished.

"Need I remind you Athelinda, that these are ministry officials, and we are required to give them respect?" Rhaegr asked his tone still rising.

"Typical of my brother following everyone's rules." Athelinda snarled before spinning on her heel, without seeking anyone's approval, and striding out.

They stared at the closed door.

Rhaegar was shocked and embarrassed. Willamar too. She had never been like this. Athelinda knew when to give respect. But apparently.

Rhaegar closed his eyes. He needed to perform this one humiliation.

"Please forgive my sister," he said. "We have a lot going on in our family at the moment, and here as well. This is not an easy time."

Marguerite sighed. "I see. Well, then, we had better give the notices along with our heads of house."

The meeting was adjourned.

Scowling, Rhaegar stood by Dumbledore as he gave the announcement. The outrage the students felt would not sway the ministry. They were treading on ice. Any one of them could be the suspect. It might not be Slytherin's monster, but someone who supported Grindelwald.

Therefore in times of trouble action was needed.

Dumbledore lacked his usual cheer. There was something troubling him.

Rhaegar read his father' letter. The one the owl just delivered. It was not looking good at all.

He had gone back to the front. And the losses were heavier than they expected. Furthermore some of the other Atlantean clans were determined to let the Volsunga win- or lose- this war by themselves. Some had withdrawn. Others had stayed neutral for the whole duration of the war.

They were losing.

And there wasn't enough time.

Rhaegar would also leave for his recognition ceremony in a few months time- providing that his father was still alive.

He leaned back against a wall and slumped once the students were all in bed.

What could he do?

What could anyone do against such evil?

Athelinda scowled as she walked the corridors. She saw something that halted her tracks.

A little girl, only eleven, taunted and tormented by a group of older students.

She wasn't the only one. Apparently, there were two more girls of roughly the same age, all of whom were in Slytherin House, except for the tormentor themselves. They looked like they came from… Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?

Rage burned even brighter within her when she looked upon the scene.

"What are you going to do?" one of the older students taunted. "Call upon your fanged servant to come get us? Call 'im in and see what 'e can do 'n' help you. Maybe a bite? A li'le hiss? From 'im or jus' you?" he sneered.

The other bullies started roaring with laughter.

They doubled over.

"Maybe," the first bully grinned. "You could-" but he never made the suggestion because Athelinda drew her wand and cast a Shield-charm that came between the bullies and their victims.

Snarling, she came upon them, and the expression on her face must have been ferocious, because they paled and would have fled, but she cast another Shield-charm that blocked their escape. Unfortunately she wasn't allowed to cast the Cruciatus curse or even bind them with ropes.

"Your names," she hissed.

They paled further.

"You will regret this," she vowed, slowly and dangerously. Her black eyes, glinted, and looked like the abyss. "I promise you will."

In the shadows Tom Riddle watched without her knowing.

And none of them doubted it.

She marched away, and found her brother and the Gryffindors' female prefect, as well as the other prefects and the Head Girl, minus Tom Riddle.

Angrily she informed the shocked and appalled prefects and her brother and his female counterpart about what she had seen and stopped.

They flushed in shame and the blood inside her burned to an almost unbearable temperature.

Rhaegar flushed deeply. "Athelinda-" "Don't!" she snarled dangerously. She spun on her heel and glided swiftly away.

It appeared that family ties were nothing compared to house ties and the cloud of dark discontent that hung over the world.

Could anyone blame her for wanting power?

Nor for deciding to do anything to gain it?

* * *

_April 29 1943…_

Andreas scowled.

He read the letter.

And then he scrunched it into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace, drinking deeply from his goblet.

He sank onto the low sofa and sighed.

His wife came in.

"You've had another letter," she remarked. "What did it say?"

He scowled again. "The usual."

"Athelinda?" she asked hastily. "The boys? Any more attacks?"

He gave her a tired look. She knew what it meant.

But surely they made the right decision in sending the children to Hogwarts?

Between the happenings in Hogwarts, and the war with Grindelwald… She had been a teacher a Durmstrang before she married him. Born in Russia, she had been Atlantean by descent and was an unbelievably gifted witch- talented and smart enough to teach their children before they even began school.

She agreed to send their children to Hogwarts. She had, after all, resigned in protest after the Durmstrang board of governors refused to acknowledge that they had a problem: an increasing number of students being fascinated by the dark arts, lax actions taken to preventing such a thing and lack of a tighter disciplinary system over the practice of such magic. The school refused to take her seriously, saying that Grindelwald had long been expelled before she even came to work as a teacher. It was up to the students who had lost family members to Grindelwald to put them in their place.

She was only thankful there were that many students who knew sense- although they achieved it through rather sad and terrible ways.

So she agreed that they would be better off if they were taught at Hogwarts. A better environment for any kind of learning, she decided. But it seemed that Hogwarts had problems of its own.

So what was there to do?

Rhaegar had written that it was all based on a myth with little plausibility and even less evidence to support its bizarre theory.

Further, he had written about his sister.

Athelinda was growing… distant with them, and furious. Her rages were beginning to show. She had always had a hot temper- unless she was icy-cold- but until now she had managed to conceal it. She never did anything that attracted the teachers' attention, but the other students could sense it- they were growing frightened of her- if not terrified.

She was always proud- a little too proud for her own good- but now it was more than mere haughtiness. She had begun making snide remarks, insulting comments and degrading words at fellow students, making them feel awful, especially those who were never very bright and struggled with school to begin with. These increased even when the students actually found it too hard to bear. The teachers were turning a blind eye- students of all ages, all levels of intelligence and talent, male or female bore the brunt of her sneering, sarcastic, sardonic, or sometimes downright blunt- although she was usually more subtle than that- comments. It wasn't uncommon to hear students crying in the toilets.

Rhaegar had spoken to Athelinda about such things and so did Willamar. All they got, was a shouting match- with a silencing charm at the doors and windows of the empty classroom- and Athelinda giving them the same treatment except on a larger scale.

It particularly hurt.

Especially because they could almost believe she hated them.

Andreas had considered sending her a howler, but he would never humiliate her in front of everyone, and furthermore, damage the relationship with her brothers, which was becoming particularly strained.

Neither did he want to turn her against her parents. Call him cowardly in this sense, but he would rather not have his own daughter hate him. He loved her.

And she was going through a rough time with all the rumours and stories going around.

She was discontent, he had always felt that.

And she hated the world and wanted to change it.

But Athelinda was young, and as brilliant and clever as she was- far from foolish- she was young and judged too quickly without even finding out the whole facts for herself. She wanted the power to change the world to her own views and ideals, but she had never bothered, or managed to see life through another person's eyes, whether it was an ordinary Muggle, a young student, or anyone in power.

Yes, there was corruption, yes there were betrayals, murders, dark magic and so forth, but there was also good in this world, and things worth preserving. And in the heat of her discontent and her youthful misunderstanding, Athelinda had blinded herself to these things. For all the blindness she claimed she saw in others…

Andreas took a gulp of firewhisky. He was temporarily back because he was placed on a covert mission.

To convince Dumbledore to join the fight.

But neither he nor Rhaegar and Willamar would ever leave Hogwarts in such a state unless they knew for sure that Grindelwald was behind the attacks in school.

And that had to be solved first.

"What shall we do?" he asked. "About Dumbledore?"

His wife regarded him in silence.

"What can we do?" she asked.

"He was Grindelwald's friend," Andres sighed. "Surely he would know his weaknesses."

"He may not be like Grindelwald," his wife sat down beside him. "But that does not mean that it is still easy to confront his former friend. It must still hurt, he can only remember all too well what his betrayal must have been like."

"And we cannot tell the children about their friendship," Andreas put in. "Especially not Athelinda. She does not need to lack faith in anyone else when she is already…" he could not find the words.

His wife sighed. "What can we do about her?" she worried.

"Can we even do anything that won't make it worse?" he asked.

"I read that she's started to harass the other students. Except in Slytherin House alone."

He grimaced and shook his head. "She's hard even on the Slytherins," he said bluntly. "They're not good enough for her."

"Is anything ever good enough for Athelinda?" Katerina sighed again.

"She's ambitious- for herself and for the world. And I'm starting to think she's mixing them up together. To think what she _thinks _is best for the world, is best for her."

"Ambition is dangerous as it is healthy," she remarked. She took the offered glass of wine her husband handed to her.

"If only Athelinda can know these things," Andreas said regretfully. "But I don't think she will want to hear the truth.

"That's not all," Andreas continued. "I hear she's developing a relationship with another student."

Katerina stared at him. "What?" she asked bewildered.

"The other Slytherin prefect," he said. "Tom Riddle."

She stared at him still. "Is it a good relationship?" Andreas shrugged.

"Rhaegar hates him." He said. "He claims that she started seeing him the time she turned all… well." He gulped his second glass of firewhisky down. "But this may be due to the over-protective nature he has, especially when it concerns boys and his sisters."

Katerina frowned. "I don't see _you_ reacting in an extreme way."

"That's because I read the letter first," he remarked cheekily. "And I had time to pull myself together.

She scoffed.

"Well, this may or may not be a bad relationship," she said. "Only time can tell. And as far as I can tell, it's not life-threatening." He responded.

If only they knew.

* * *

Athelinda had been seeing Tom Riddle for some time now, as 'friends'. Rhaegar scowled watching them go about in Hogsmeade. He would have followed them if Willamar did not stop him.

Willamar shook his head. "You'll only make it worse."

He was right. Athelinda was no fool. And her mood swings were alarming. She was utterly unpredictable- she could be raging _fiendfyre_ and hurtful insults or icy cold, or genuinely kind and happy like he remembered her. No one knew what to think.

A number of people were starting to stay clear.

Others were like flocks of pixies and crowded around her in _admiration_, of all things.

Since when did she even like the crowd or even _tolerated_ them? Maybe she was snobbish and disdainful and preferred to stay alone, but even though she looked down upon them then, she certainly looked down upon them still, despite the acts of kindness and generosity she bestowed upon them in her unpredictable whims. But whether they liked her, or not it had never mattered to them before. Now she still looked upon them like animals- sometimes tolerable and worthy and needing of generosity and kindness. Other times, they were intolerable and made a mess of everything.

But she now lived on their praise.

He made a point of telling his friends and brother of what had happened.

"Well," one boy, James Callaghan stated. "She is becoming a pain. Why not try to talk to her in a calm and reasonable environment?"

The two brothers stared at him. In the Three Broomsticks, the noise was such, no one could over-hear them.

"You didn't think we didn't try that?" Willamar raised an eyebrow. He sighed.

"Philomena's turning eleven soon enough," he said. "She's going to Hogwarts, in the meantime, there's _something _attacking everyone, there's a war our father's fighting- he's'-" he motioned to Rhaegar "-going to be leaving to fight before she even comes, and Athelinda's acting…" he grimaced. "I'm not even going to say it."

"Well, at least you can say, you're going to be here," Luke Woodsom pointed.

He mumbled something incomprehensible and downed his butterbeer.

"I am tempted," Rhaegar said, "To hex her to her right senses. For all she talks about the world being blind…" he shook his head.

"She's blinded by ambition- for herself and for the world she wants."

"What about Tom Riddle," Alphard Black said.

"What about him?" James Callaghan asked.

Alphard shrugged.

"Well, he may or may not be the cause of this. But the two of them have been looking awfully cosy with each other, haven't they?"

Rhaegar growled. It sounded suspiciously like an Old Atlantean insult or a curse. Willamar sighed.

"If we try and interfere- and I pointed this out to Rhaegar- we might make things worse and push her away even further." He groaned.

"Philomena's coming this September," Rhaegar said menacingly. "I will _not_ have either of them influencing her in any way!"

"Calm down," his brother warned. "Let's just hope she won't have to put up with either of them, even if it means she'll get sorted into a different house. But you _are_ right. I'll spend more than enough time with her and keep her away- even if she isn't at my house."

"Why can't they make you the Head Boy when I'm gone?" Rhaegar said brusquely. "Or someone else. Then he won't have any control over anyone else then what he already has."

Mathew Fields sighed. "He's seeing your sister, possibly in a romantic context and you've already decided you hate him? You two barely even speak."

Willamar glanced at his brother. "He's right you know." Rhaegar shrugged.

"I just have a very bad feeling about this. She's been discontent and arrogant her whole life, but it only got so bad this school year. And it got especially worse after I saw her with Tom Riddle the first time in Hogsmeade."

He gulped his butterbeer. But even the wonderful taste did not soothe him.

"You know," Alphard Black said slyly. "Why don't you start seeing someone, just so she could react?"

Rhaegar reddened, and everyone on the table laughed, but Willamar's dark eyes looked rather sad and he sounded strained.

"Who would you suggest?" Rhaegar scoffed. "I've known everyone in the whole school, and I've never felt any sort of attraction for _anyone_. I look out for them. But not in that sense."

"Your big brother instincts," Willamar snorted. "It's taking its toll. You're going to have a hard time finding a wife if you keep this up."

The group guffawed with laughter.

"That's a good one," Luke Woodsom sniggered. "Rhaegar, have you met my sister?"

They roared with laughter as to why Luke would want to introduce his sister to Rhaegar.

And the tension eased- if only for a while.

But things didn't get any better.

As a matter of fact, they got worse.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**_"I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up."_**

**_Lauren Oliver_**

_28 May 1943…_

Willamar pressed himself against the walls, right next to the doors of the Great Hall.

Inside Athelinda was laughing along with some people.

She had grown very popular. But even though she was always admired, she never sought for or craved the admiration until now.

It was Tom Riddle that was what Rhaegar said. But Willamar wasn't sure who to pin-point the blame apart from Athelinda herself.

Rhaegar loved his brother and sisters- he acted like the big brother everyone adored- although he had his dark sides. Rhaegar never discussed it with their sisters- Philomena would never know and Athelinda only knew that her elder brother was captured and grew strong enough to fight back. But Willamar knew more than most.

Willamar was the most unremarkable of the four, if he were to say it himself. After all, he did not have Rhaegar's remarkable skill and charisma (although people tended like him as well, he wouldn't be anyone they would follow, as in to battle), nor did he have Athelinda's sizzling and alluring charm and her fascinating ambition. Philomena was sweet, and very bright, eager to please- even she would have more to shine out than he did.

Which was why people would be forgiven if they thought him the weakest of the four. Like Hufflepuff.

Sweet Hufflepuff, was all they called her- fair and honest, but not as glamourous and attracting as the other three. She didn't prefer the brainy ones like Ravenclaw, didn't prefer the courageous and combatant ones like Gryffindor, nor did she prefer the mystery and prestige, cunning and driving ambition that was Slytherin's hallmark. She took all the rest. She took the honest ones, and the fair ones. But anyone could be honest and fair- at least that was what they thought.

They had no idea. The Sorting Hat certainly knew what he was doing when he placed him in Hufflepuff. It suited him. And he often found it useful when he was overlooked.

Such as now.

Willamar closed his eyes to concentrate. They were in the Great Hall- his sister, and her admirers- her toadies, for those who could see them for what they really were.

The girls were shrieking with giggles, sounding rather mad, he decided. The boys were grinning idiotically, hanging at her every word. And were some of them drooling? Disgusting, he decided.

He craned closer to hear what they were saying.

"Of course, I wouldn't dare make assumptions," Athelinda purred. He shuddered. This was definitely not the sister of his childhood.

"Women spend more time worrying about what men think, than men spend thinking." There was a resounding roar of laughter.

"So naturally, I can't assume to know what he likes, or whether he decides to like it at all, before tumbling me down," she smirked, and again they roared, or howled, spluttering over their sniggers as Athelinda entertained and admired them. Did they even know they were being insulted?

It saddened him. His sister had changed. Since when did she thrive on the admirations and thoughts of others?

She had a great deal of wit, and her charisma and good looks may have attracted and fascinated people, her charm kept them from taking offense and her conversation entertained them. She was intelligent, and responded quickly and well. Even if she mocked people, her wit could amuse and kept them glued to her. She was vibrant and fascinating. And she was misusing all that.

Willamar was sickened. He took a glance inside.

Athelinda may be beautiful, but she knew it. She wasn't overly-vain- she had always been arrogant- but that wasn't what people saw. She was confident. Strikingly so. She had a strong aura of mystery about her. She was always elegant and immaculately groomed. Her clothes were elegant and stylish- she looked expensive, even with her uniform, he thought with unease. No one dressed like her, and carried themselves the way she did. She had the perfect posture, and graceful, fluid movements, like the snakes she so loved. Like a Nagini. That graceful sinuous walk, that didn't look like she moved on two limbs, the way her robes swirled and seemed to float around her, and her mysterious, almost dreamy, voice- the voice of a story-teller, telling epic sagas and legends- like a Vǫlva telling the tales around a smoky fire in a dark night. Naturally she was very charismatic. The way her black eyes flashed with wit- intelligence and a knowing which made people want to find out more.

Willamar knew as well she was brilliant. Everything she did, she excelled. He could see the girls glance at her, staring at her in fascination and consternation, hoping to find out her secret- to her success and the effortless ease- unnoticed by her- which made her so attractive as well as brilliant. He could see the men gawping stupidly at her. Willamar closed his eyes.

It made him sick.

He conjured up the images in his mind- a young girl laughing and playing with her brothers. Asking questions about the use of this herb or that root in this potion or that solution. Scowling, but then laughing when she was helped up after being beaten in duelling practice.

This was not his sister.

He walked away in disgust.

Whatever Tom Riddle did, Athelinda (unless she was under the Imperius Curse) agreed to it.

Maybe Rhaegar was right. Maybe there was something not right about that boy?

But what exactly did he do? A voice asked stubbornly in his head. Unless there was solid concrete evidence that Tom Riddle, a model student praised by students and teachers alike, was in some way influencing his sister in a bad way- and anyone else- then there was no proof whatsoever that he was guilty.

And since when did Rhaegar love to jump to conclusions anyway? Willamar scowled. Athelinda wasn't the only one who was changing. Well, Rhaegar somehow ended up in his nerves, one way or another.

Athelinda slept soundly. She murmured. She liked to sleep well, although she did not believe in over-indulging in such a thing. But she would be refreshed and glowing when the morning came, she was sure of it.

But she wasn't alone. There was Tom Riddle. How in the world he managed to get into the girls' dormitory- and Athelinda's room to be precise, no one would have a single clue. But he stood there- and he had something. He laid a golden and silver trinket on a table- it was beautifully wrought. But then he frowned. Perhaps he should wait a while. But he stayed silently near the doorway. And murmured something, raising his hand in the air- without a wand.

* * *

Athelinda smiled in her sleep.

Tom Riddle found himself smiling as well. Before he looked confused, as to why he did so.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and it took a few hours for the parents to have their mail sent to them.'

Rhaegar- unlike his sister in the Slytherin Dungeons- did not sleep well. There were half-circles under his eyes, and when Willamar saw them, he grimaced.

Time was taking its toll on Rhaegar- and so was the war. He had been receiving news from the front, and Merlin, did they look bad. His handsome face was pinched and pale.

He tied the letter and the package to the owl's feet and sent it on its way.

He stared at the owl for a long while, before striding to the lakeside.

He didn't care if Tom Riddle showed up just to annoy him. He was that miserable.

Shaking his head, despite it being a warm- or in the very least temperate- May day, he wrapped his robes around him, wishing he could put on a winter cloak.

He didn't notice the flock of girls who had suddenly stopped what they were doing- whatever it was- to stare and giggle silently at him.

Once at the water's edge, he breathed out a heavy sigh.

He stared at the liquid, not really seeing anything.

Well, he did see something.

_Flames, and houses burning. The bloodied sword at his hand, the wand in his other._ _The sounds of people screaming. And finally, him, watching emotionlessly at the gruesome sight before him- a sight he himself created._

_He stared and felt, for the first real time since they took him, liquid forming at the base of his tear-duct and rolling itself outwards, falling down his skin, onto the blood-soaked mud beneath._

_The blood which he spilled._

_He had sworn. He broke his vow then, never to cry. He kept it when they stripped the shirt from his back. He kept it when they tied him to the pole and lashed him with the whip which had different-coloured flames dancing upon its multiple leather tails. He kept it when they laughed and jeered, and humiliated and tortured him, and the ones who were unfortunate enough to be with him- slaves as he was. Children of the Endless Night- that was what they called them…_

_He swore his vow when he was separated from his father. And he kept it, swearing that he would never cry like a baby, the way they wanted him to- even when he killed the first innocent- an act that he knew would never leave him. _

_And yet… he'd cried. He cried then, when he saw what he had done. He cried when_ she_ had left after appearing in his dreams. And he'd cried then, when he saw what he did, because no matter what he did to rescue her, and despite her own freedom, even if they were to see each other again, she would not know him. He had turned into a monster. _

_It was a monster which he saw every time he looked into a mirror. It was a monster every time he gazed upon the surface of liquid that stared back at him. It was a monster which murdered countless innocents. And he knew it would never leave him. _

_No matter how many rights he did. No matter how young he was when they took him. No matter what Dumbledore said._

He snapped back into reality.

He gazed at his reflection on the water's surface. He remembered the story about a Greek man who was enchanted into falling in love with his own reflection- and then transfigured into a flower. Small chance of that for him, he thought, and it was the closest he had ever come to wanting to smile that day.

_She_ would see him as a monster- he had no doubt. How could anyone forget what had been done to him, and what he had done, once they actually saw for themselves- like she did?

He could hear the giggles of the girls who were observing him. He didn't care. He didn't give a damn. What did they know? And if they did know they would run away.

And they weren't her. They could never replace or be her. Not even if they looked like her. He shook his head.

How many years has it been? He could almost laugh. How many years? It wasn't right for a boy to go on about his first love, surely?

And yet, here he was.

He wondered if his sister had love.

But he knew his brother did- even if he refused to talk about it.

* * *

Willamar's love was the dead girl Feodora Williams.

He wasn't a fool. Everyone did not talk about her death, because Armando Dippet didn't want any more mayhem than was necessary. Feodora Williams' death could unhinge everyone at a time when peace was desperately needed. It could turn the tide of support towards Grindelwald.

And so Willamar pushed it to the back of his mind- acted like and thought as if he did not feel anything, or even remember that a girl, he so loved, despite being born into an insane family, was brutally killed, by the ones who were supposed to love her. Who burned her alive.

Rhaegar wondered she still lived. If she made it to freedom. And most of all, if she still thought or even remembered him.

He swallowed. It was hard. It was harder than he imagined. To put the damned thoughts away from his mind, he wondered if it was possible that Tom Riddle would love his sister. But it was such a disturbing, impossible thought, if he had the heart for it, he would laugh mockingly. But then his eye caught a sight which did not please him.

He stood at the water's edge his hand on the tree trunk, and he felt his fingers close into a fist, ripping bits of bark from the tree in a rage that clawed sharper than dragon's teeth.

Tom Riddle and Athelinda.

He loathed him.

Tom smiled. Athelinda cocked her head to one side, like a cobra, surveying something with curiosity.

He merely smiled at her.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asked, her black eyes suddenly luminous.

He held out his hand. She took it, curious. No, she wasn't stupid, but she was blind to some things. Not so much for some time, now.

She had first started to become aware of certain things: firstly how he looked when he saw her. That little smile, almost teasing, indulgent- the smile he used on others who found favour with him. But then it changed into something else- something more relaxed, and calm, and… what was it? Surely it wasn't more straightforward?

But that wasn't it. He would touch her- taking her hand- not some outdated display of gallantry, but although she took it for that at first she realised, it was more warm than cordial.

She had laughed at herself. Scoffed, even. Why in the world should she, Athelinda, ever want something as ludicrous and stupid as romance?

It was just a show of how self-absorbed she had become that she thought highly of herself. She always scorned false modesty, but she had become a victim to something far worse: pride.

He held out his hand. She took it.

Yes, she admitted, in her heart of hearts (although she was too damned proud to say it to herself) that there might be something more. He drew her closer.

Then he held something out.

It was a beautifully-crafted bangle. Fashioned exquisitely of gold and silver in such beautiful, intricate patterns, small and perfect, yet flashing in the light.

She drew a sharp breath.

"How-" she stammered. "What-but-" But Tom cut her off.

"It is a gift," he said, there was something soft in his eyes, black as hers, something gentle and light.

Something that was completely alien to him, and yet belonged there right now.

There was no one else around (that she knew).

Athelinda might have been blind to businesses other than her own, but she could observe very well, once something caught her attention.

He slipped it onto her wrist. It glittered and flashed in the sunlight.

She looked up at him. She stared, wordlessly, trying to figure out why he was doing this, but with none of her usual icy, calculated ways. She was hopelessly bewildered.

"Something for you to rejoice in," he said musingly. "Something which makes you remember," he went quiet after that, staring into her eyes.

She was wordless, still.

"Remember me," he said so quietly, she barely heard him.

And strange enough, both actually forgot where they were, and that there was a war going on.

"Don't forget," he whispered and he knew she wouldn't. As for her… well, she did not say what she normally would have, a scathing, snide remark about her memory being better than most, including him.

She was silent, staring in his eyes. Black upon black.

It didn't look like they would look away.

Rhaegar's blood boiled.

* * *

Was it loathing?

Was it the over-protective nature of a loving elder brother- especially one who had known grief?

Was it jealousy? Jealousy that they had something that he and his brother had lost?

It disturbed him to think about it.

But maybe he was overreacting. His brother certainly believed so.

Willamar and Rhaegar thus ended up eavesdropping on Athelinda in the Great Hall with her new 'friends'.

They heard her laughter- a wonderful tinkling sound that they had loved in better times. But now it was accompanied by the stupid guffaws and insensitive sniggers of a large crowd of students.

They heard her say: "Sometimes when I read Bathilda Bagshot, I have the sneaking suspicion about her writing. I think she's trying to be_ funny_!" People roared with laughter."

"No!" They heard one of them exclaim. "Absolutely not!" Was it... Nott?!

"Well, I think she does try," Athelinda said mockingly. Rhaegar felt himself tense in rage. She was mocking others without them being around! He had heard from Dumbledore that Bathilda Bagshot was not feeling well recently. She had been teaching and writing for students and those that wanted to learn, and here was Athelinda, so full of herself, younger and more inexperienced, yet thinking she could do a better job and openly implying this to students who were likely to have been assisted by Ms. Bagshot herself- and their parents before them!

He never had patience with gossip and backstabbing. Nor with rumour-mongering and spreading lies. It didn't matter that the person they are talking about, was unlikely to meet them! It was cruel, and he doubted anyone would like to be talked about and mocked in such a way.

"Are you mocking her?" tittered Lucretia Greengrass- another sycophant that Athelinda would not have normally associated herself with.

He gritted his teeth as his sister made a reply.

"Of course, I don't mock her works- the way she writes things down, the way she sees history," Athelinda said casually, but he could almost see the glittering in her eye. "I see people's opinions the way I see their pets: I may like them, I may be disgusted, but I don't want to take them home with me."

They roared with laughter.

Rhaegar had had enough. He marched into the Great Hall, whereupon everybody noticed his arrival.

He had a gift for that- for inspiring in others what he wanted them to feel.

Except for his sister. She was dressed in an evening gown, black as usual, more suited for ball or a feast, than for an after-hours gathering with friends. It was just proof to show that she was different. She never used to care about what others thought. Now she was flamboyant and showed off.

He stood still and ice radiated from his form and filled the group of 'friends' with terror.

"Brother," Athelinda acknowledged, intentionally sounding unimpressed, and standing.

"Quite the gathering," he began icily. "But I fear I might have to break this up. You see, curfew will be enforced quite soon." he said soft and dangerous. Athelinda started when she thought he might be mocking _her_. "And thus students that aren't in their common rooms in a few minutes time, will face detention. It will be the responsibility of any prefect or Head Student to report such things- of course, the prefect will need to remember," he finished his eyes glinting.

Athelinda flushed in humiliated rage as the students hurriedly stood and filed out the Great Hall, as quick as they could. When the last of the students had left, Rhaegar turned to Athelinda.

She looked like a rearing, hissing, about-to-strike-venom-and-constrict Naga. The Atlantean-witch Nagini queen hissed at her brother.

"How dare you humiliate me in front of-" "In front of who?" Rhaegar gave a harsh laugh. "Your friends?" It was the closest he had ever come to a sneer.

"It is quite funny, how you were never stupid or senseless enough to consider them your friends until now," he finished in a mocking tone.

"Don't you dare insult me," she hissed. There was so much venom in her voice that anyone would have flinched and even fled, but Rhaegar had suffered far worse than any tantrum she could ever throw up. The idea that she might try to chase him away was laughable. "It is more than enough that you should _humiliate_ me, either in public or private-"

Rhaegar scoffed and laughed out loud. "Like you?" he shot back. "Don't be such a hypocrite. You can't stand what you gladly give to others?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Bathilda Bagshot was never around when I discuss her."

"Neither are you when others talk about you," her brother shot back. "I suppose you like it then, when others do that? Because they do, Athelinda. They most certainly do."

Athelinda hissed and flushed further. "They would never dare-"

"Oh, so now you decide to care about something which was normally so beneath you?" he snapped. "The opinions of others? Any of your business?"

"It is my business when they discuss _me_," she hissed.

"And it's Bathilda's business when you discuss her work," he countered acidly. "Are you so high and mighty, that you hold yourself above the common folk? The ones that you so 'want to change the world' for?" He snarled.

She hissed at him. 'Get to bed," he snapped. "You're becoming more despicable by the day, Athelinda. It's a good thing Father and Mother aren't here to see you- it's a good thing no one _really_ sees you for who you really are now."

He turned and left.

Athelinda almost shrieked behind him: "Don't think you are better than me, Rhaegar! You were abducted and fought to escape, and just because of that, we've had to live in your shadow for the whole of our lives! Well, don't get too comfortable with this arrangement," she snarled. "I was chosen to change the world. What did you do Rhaegar? Ear glory for Father's mishap in taking you to Europe?" She almost screamed.

But Rhaegar was already gone, the blood rising within him, and something more- the pain.

* * *

"This has just made it worse," Willamar mumbled. And it had. Now Rhaegar and Athelinda had officially drawn the battle lines- at least that was how she thought.

Rhaegar shook his head. "Why did you do it? You know it was going to turn her against you, the way she is going now." Willamar asked.

But he replied. "Yes, she's never going to forgive me. But at least I said something to warn her- or try to do something- even if it fails- even if she turns against me, it's worth it. At least she won't go to the wrong path, believing completely that it's the right. She might choose not to hear it, but somewhere, she remembers what I said. No matter what anyone else might lead her to believe- the ones that will lead her to ruin. It's worth her hating me."

He sighed. "We have to make sacrifices sometimes," he said. "For the people we love. Even if it is at our expense. Even if it is them."

His mind and heart jolted back against his will, years ago, when he set a young girl free.

He stopped and stared blankly.

Willamar stared at him.

"Do you still think of her?" he asked numbly. Rhaegar looked down and nodded his head.

Willamar stared blankly into space. He saw it then. He refused to think about it for so long. The flames rising, growing and curling around her slender form as she begged for mercy. The flames devouring her, and crisping her flesh, skin, eyes and hair. The curses of the Muggles, including the parents who were supposed to love her.

Tears threatened to fall, but he held them back. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Rhaegar was looking at him in grief. "She would want you to be happy," he said numbly.

But was it possible?

* * *

Willamar made his way to the Hufflepuff Basement. He turned right from the kitchen corridor and tapped the stack of barrels in the passcode of the Hufflepuffs. It was always the same. Hufflepuffs were constant- loyal and fair. It never changed.

The Gryffindors' common room and the Slytherins' had passwords that kept changing. Ravenclaws' riddles changed every time someone managed to answer correctly. But Hufflepuffs were constant. And although they were seen as the weakest in all four houses, no one had any idea what loyalty, honesty and justice was worth until the time came to test it and one's friends. Loyalty and justice could save just as much as courage, cunning and intelligence.

The doors swung open. It was warm, cosy and welcoming like a mother whose children are arriving home just in time for the evening meal. It was by far not grand, but it was safe. These were always the feelings Willamar had when arriving.

The wonderful, earthy room was a home in which one could be content and happy.

Round, with circular windows (now drawn with curtains) that showed the lawns of grass and wildflowers, the room also had plants that could dance and talk, as well as ones that merely looked cosy and welcoming, and black and yellow overstuffed armchairs and sofas on which students were sitting.

Many fell silent and gazed at him, stopping in whatever they were doing. But it wasn't a silence based upon ostracization, but on pity. They like Rhaegar knew, about his feeling and heartbreak for Feodora. Unlike Athelinda. Pity might not be desired, but he unlike his sister, knew better than to take it in humiliation. Pity was by far, better than rejection, mockery and hatred. So he tolerated it, even though it was not desired.

He went through the tunnels and into his private room. He used the _colloportus _charm on the door, so everyone would get the message and leaned against it.

There, he allowed himself to sob and to nurse his broken heart. Others might laugh, but they did not know the pain she endured burning to ash, while her parents wished her to hell. And they did not know how he felt.

And neither would Athelinda, who had yet to learn the true worth of love.

* * *

In the very same evening, the youngest- and thus the most overlooked until now- of the four siblings was also eavesdropping.

She had no choice.

Little Philomena loved learning new things more than anything. Everything was so fascinating. She was eager- and the more she learned, the more she wanted to learn. It was insatiable, and she marvelled at it herself.

She was eager to start Hogwarts. But she had been too young until August would come that year. And by then, beloved Rhaegar, would have left. At least she would have Willamar. And Athelinda.

But Athelinda she barely saw. The two were close when she was little, but eventually Athelinda grew absorbed in her studies, spending hours rewriting essays and Philomena had nothing against it, she tried to emulate and enthusiastically so, understanding and admiring and idolising her elder sister and her brothers. But Athelinda no longer had the time to answer her endless questions, or explain what this and that meant in books. And if she was not studying, then she was locked in her room, with her snakes, whose company she preferred.

And there were other things. Things that frustrated her- and if there was something that frustrated her in the world, it was the inability to answer a question.

She could not understand why Willamar looked depressed and shattered during his stay over the Christmas holidays. She could not understand why she heard her sweet, wonderful, loving brother sobbing, shattered sobs, locked in his bedroom. Why he looked so dead when he emerged.

And she could not understand Rhaegar's nightmares.

When she was little, she always went to Rhaegar, wonderful, golden, flawless Rhaegar whenever she had a nightmare. And he would comfort her, hand on her back when she was small, her on his chest, and when she was bigger, curling up next to him on his bed, while he gently stroked her hair and back, murmuring stories to get her to sleep. But Rhaegar when she learned to cope on her own, had nightmares too. He fought violently with some invisible force in his sleep, even screamed in what sounded like pain and gave shouts and cries like the soldiers in battle. He begged and pleaded and screamed someone's name and woke up in tears. Her brother who was undefeated and invincible. It was not possible.

So she searched the books, her father had brought, coaxed on by her, for 'educational purposes' and 'to prepare myself for Hogwarts' to try and find out what malevolent creature was tormenting her golden brother.

But she found nothing. Try as she might. So she searched for potions instead. She tried to find out if Rhaegar had been taking something undesirable. But she discarded the notion almost immediately. Rhaegar wasn't stupid. And furthermore he took Dreamless Sleep Potions, which he timed to wake him up when he planned. So Rhaegar wouldn't take something only to try to counter its effects, later on.

She eavesdropped on her parents.

"-no attacks since in Hogwarts," she heard her father say. "And there's a stalemate, from what my comrades have told me." Hogwarts? Who was attacking who? It was the safest building in the country.

"Our children- they are safe?" Her mother choked. Her voice sounded strained. "Will they come home?"

"They are not targeted," her father said. "They are safe there."

"Are they alright?" Her mother kept saying choking on her tears.

"Will they come home? I don't care what comes, I just want them home!"

"Katerina, love," he said gently. "Hogwarts is the safest place by far. I trust Dumbledore. I might have had misgivings about Dippet, but Dumbledore is another matter entirely. Furthermore, our children have suffered worse."

"I don't give a damn!" Her mother wailed. "I want them, now! I want them home! I lost two of them already- we was lucky to get them back, beyond reason! But what if they don't come back?" She started to choke on her sobs.

What happened to her brother? She already knew what happened to Athelinda, from what she coaxed Winny into telling, but what about her brother- and which one?

For the first time in her life, Philomena felt more than just frustration for her unanswered questions. She felt fear.

Her father found her that evening, reading a book, she smiled brightly at him, revealing she heard nothing. He smiled and for a moment, all the pain, worry and anxiety disappeared. But only for a moment.

"Little One," he said. "Rhaegar is having his coming-of-age ceremony- I am taking him to the elders this year. But sadly, you won't be able to see him then. You must prepare for Hogwarts. You need to buy spellbooks with your mother, cauldron, robes and a wand among other things. But there is something you need to know."

He came into the room. Closing the door with a sigh, he came and sat on the bed. "For years your mother and I have protected you, ever since you were born. But now we will be forced to let you go- whether we want to or not. And it is always painful. And we shall worry. You are too young to know many things. But you have to know," he said when she looked at him indignantly "that what you read and prepare yourself for, is nothing like what happens when you face the situation face to face. Nothing can prepare you for that- for the joys, triumphs, and pain and sorrow you shall feel. But I think I can warn you. You are too young. But I don't think that you should go, despite your youth, without knowing some answers. You are not to discuss this with anyone. But you need to know, otherwise, you will find yourself even more in trouble, perhaps. We have tried to protect you, Little One. But I fear that you need to learn more in order to protect yourself. I do not think that it is what you want, to stay at home all your life. But please understand. What we try to keep, we do so for your sake." He looked at her sadly.

And you must discuss this with no one." He finished. She nodded. For the first time, she felt fear, even though she always dreamt of answers.

* * *

_**Well, this damn thing accidentally deleted much of the first two copies! And sorry it took so long. I'll be very busy from now. But I can explain some things. Rhaegar was a child soldier- taken captive, tortured and brutalized, forced to fight and kill, before he managed to escape and before he did so, released the one he loved from captivity- a young girl, different from anyone and anything he had ever met. I don't know whether you'll see her, but she is important- perhaps in sequels, who knows? But as a member of the Children of the Endless Night, Rhaegar was left scarred and haunted for life. Will he heal? Will Willamar? And what if Willamar tries and finds revenge? I didn't elaborate about him and Feodora, the girl he loved who was burnt on the stake by her Muggle parents- lynched. But this is important, because things are about to go **_**insane _in the next chapter. The war is about to step up- and something happens in June- something we know about. And something more in July. And we will also learn more about Atlantean Culture. However, the relationship between the siblings is diving towards a break, and Athelinda is headed for disaster- and eventual regret. Because everything goes insane soon enough. We will have more attacks- and the war will be escalated- on whose terms, I don't know._**

**_P.s : Is she turning into a b***h, as I hoped? Someone people will want to slap? I hope so, because things are about to get deadly. _**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

**_"It's funny how sometimes the people you'd take a bullet for, are the ones behind the trigger."_**

**_Ritu Ghatourey_**

_9th June 1943…_

Rhaegar's face was a storm waiting to explode as he strode throughout the castle.

The Head Boy wanted to kill something… or someone.

_Two_ people. And honestly, who could blame him?

Athelinda yet again, had been caught- by him, always him- harassing the some students- soft targets by the looks of them- and her newfound sycophants guffawing along.

He wanted to hex something.

His blood was boiling by the time he caught Athelinda outside.

She had finished her Care of Magical Creatures lesson, and Rhaegar was free.

Now was the time to confront her.

Rhaegar stepped outside, not paying attention to the fine spring morning.

He grabbed her arm roughly, ignoring her outraged splutters and hisses, pulling her to a secluded spot, next to a tree, by the lake.

"What the devil is wrong with you?" He snarled. He was frightening when he was angry.

Her eyes narrowed. "What's it to you?" She hissed. "Just because some whiny moaners couldn't stop crying, you come to their aid?"

Rhaegar flushed with rage. "Myrtle Warren has been bullied enough."

She sneered. "Myrtle Warren is a cry-baby- over-grown and with little talent as it is. If she wasn't Muggle-born I'm certain she'd be a squib. In fact, she barely more than one or the other."

Rhaegar's eyes flashed. Now she'd done it.

"Why are you so interested in her anyway?" She laughed mockingly. "I thought you would have better, finer taste in women."

"Like my sister?" Rhaegar said drawled in return. She froze. "Well, in the latter, I _would_ be interested if the subject is worth it."

"Why are you so interested?" she asked, biting into him like frost. But it would take far more than that to intimidate him.

"Oh, it's not interest." Rhaegar hissed. "If it's not worth it."

Athelinda recoiled. He had never spoken to her like this. But Rhaegar had had enough. But she recovered her wits.

"If you don't think it's worth it," she said slowly, building up the tension. "Then why do you ask?"

"Because you are acting like a self-absorbed bitch from the seventh circle of hell, Athelinda," Rhaegar snarled. "I have done nothing, _nothing_\- in order to gain your contempt. And I would not accept being treated as such! You would not accept it either when everyone started bullying the Slytherins! So why do you expect me to put up with it?"

Athelinda felt like she's been dealt a blow. But he recovered everything and rage flared up.

"_I _stood up to them for you, _I_ told them that it was prejudice just as bad as Grindelwald if they made assumptions without even knowing everything. The Minister was all in for questioning you all!" he allowed his temper to get the better of him and it flared brightly. He wasn't supposed to tell her that.

"If it weren't for Dumbledore and me, you would have been taken in by the aurors- maybe even subjected to some form of torture! Oh, yes, you think it's illegal. Well, let me tell you, they _do _bend the rules! People aren't allowed to kill after all, and if people did, the only way to defend themselves is to kill them before they killed everyone in return! And if it meant using torture tactics to work out who is the enemy than it is what they'll do!" No one was supposed to know this.

Athelinda paled further. She was always pale but with colour in her cheeks and deepest red lips. But now…

"What are you saying?" She hissed with such venom, she outdid her snakes.

"That you are a self-absorbed hypocrite!" Rhaegar snarled. "And you had better start mending your ways! It isn't just me you've treated with contempt. It's everyone who isn't like the 'perfect' you. Only you could be free of fault. But you won't accept anyone else treating you with anything other than the respect you feel you deserve- no, are _entitled_ to- for whatever imaginary great accomplishments that you've done!"

Athelinda had had it. She pushed him away and drew her wand. Rhaegar drew his.

She saw red. There was red in her eyes.

With a cry, she shot a hex towards him, which he blocked with incredible ease, eyes glinting menacingly- looking truly dangerous.

Enraged further, she shot another hex and he did the same to her. She shot multiple hexes and jinxes at him. He did the same.

But the amount of spells and the severity of the damage it would have caused, were increased in Athelinda's casting. It didn't help that the majority of the spells she used were non-verbal- the way in which an enemy would be dealt with in order not to give them any clue as to what they were defending against.

But Rhaegar blocked or escaped them unscathed. And retaliated further. Athelinda started using wandless magic against him, dangerous and destructive as it was- for both her and her opponent, which so happened to be her own brother.

The duel became even more intense. She nearly started using the Unforgivable Curses, but recoiled inwardly as this was her brother, whether or not she hated dark magic.

But never would she allow anyone to treat her with anything other than respect. Never would they speak to her like that. Never would they humiliate her in front of the teachers. Never would anyone treat her like that while they themselves fall short of what they should be.

Even her brother, who could have easily taken all he wanted out of the world- if he had the guts to want it- and make the world into something other than the scum-hole it was. And he had thrown it all away- thrown away the chance to turn the world from a scum-hole into a glorious civilisation like Atlantis had been. Throwing away any chance of leadership- any chance of glory- to serve with the crowd.

He was weak. She had always thought him the strongest person that she knew, even stronger than their father, but he was weak.

Too weak not to seek power for himself, or glory.

Too weak to do anything but to serve.

Unlike her, he was weak.

She would never walk in anyone's shadow.

Letting out a scream of rage, she cast a powerful hex towards him- without even thinking its consequences. But fortunately for him, Rhaegar knew what it was, and that Athelinda had for once outreached her abilities.

Counteracting it with something that neutralised it, he quickly dodged before she had a chance to use this as a distraction and figure out his plan, and cast another spell. She blocked and counterattacked- only to find herself lifted into the air.

Rhaegar had once again cast a trip-jinx towards her.

She landed hard on the ground and she saw ropes jet out of his wand and throw themselves, wrapping around her wrists and ankles, not simply pinning her, but holding her captive.

He had won again.

And the biggest insult was that he had done it in a way he already did before.

It was a humiliation and a cause of rage.

"Done?" he barked. "Or do you want more?" he saw nothing but his rage.

She shrieked in rage.

"I hate you!" she snarled. "You bastard son of a-" the ropes lifted her into the air.

Rhaegar was about to give her a healthy dose to slam her into something in order to knock sense into her. But a shocked realisation came unto him.

This was his sister.

And he acted towards her in the way he always dreamed of, towards the monsters that brutalized and tortured him- insulting any dignity he and anyone else had.

And he truly would become like them- if he did that to his own sister. They told the others to butcher their parents too.

He dropped her. She lay on the ground, gasping for breath, eyes wild, like a predator who was thwarted. No, she was not prey.

Shocked, horrified and repulsed at his own actions, disgusted at himself. Rhaegar looked up in dismay.

She scrambled to her feet, face contorted in rage. He had won with what he did last time.

"I beat you the last time," he said slowly, trying to conceal his inner feelings. "I have done so now. And I will do it again. If you think you can defeat me- try me. You never learn, Athelinda."

He wanted to show her she was no better, She had never learned from her mistakes. That was all.

Merlin, he _never_ wanted to hurt her. He _loved_ her!

To show her that despite all the high expectations she had on everybody else, she still had the same failings. She fell short of her own vision of herself.

"I hate you!" she snarled again. "And I swear by the blood of Merlin, I will make you regret this, _Rhaegar_!" and with her hair all over the place, and her robes askew, she strode off.

_I already have._ He thought.

_I hate me too._

* * *

"What?" Willamar demanded.

Rhaegar took a deep breath.

"You had a practice?"

"No, it wasn't a practice." He groaned. "We had a fight."

There was a bone-chilling silence in the air.

"What is it?" Willamar asked, frozen.

Rhaegar took another deep breath and told the story.

"Merlin," Willamar whispered. He sat down.

Rhaegar buried his face in his hands.

"Why?' Willamar asked aghast.

Rhaegar, barely speaking out of a mumble, told Willamar the story. How Athelinda had been treating everyone, including himself. How she had touched on sore subjects with everyone. And how the teachers were paying no notice.

Why? Because she was their golden girl. The one everyone could see no wrong. Dumbledore could, he could see right through anyone, but he was not here. He had gone, somewhere, on some sort of journey.

'Dear God," he whispered. It was a prayer. _"Why?"_

Why did it have to be so intense?

Alphard was right. Willamar learned all there was about Rhaegar's ordeal.

The moment-" he choked. "The moment I pulled her up in the air, I realised... I wanted to slam her and get it into her head she wasn't the only person worthwhile... Just like I did _them_. I hated them. But I also wanted to show we were worth something too."

He inhaled deeply. "But I saw that it was Athelinda." he laughed harshly. "So you see Willamar, I am not suited for leadership the way Father and Dumbledore thinks I am."

Willamar was silent.

"We have to talk to her," he said. "She _does_ need sense. Even if it means getting sense knocked into her head." he shook his head. "This has gone for too long enough. I'm going to put a stop to it. I'm writing to Father."

And with that, he walked out of the room.

* * *

Willamar succeeded in rounding up Athelinda.

Or rather, he would have.

Instead he listened in on her talking to a student.

"My, is that your draught of Sleeping Death?" he heard her say. He saw her talking to a blonde curly-haired girl, who flushed over her cauldron and vials. "Well, I must say, I'm impressed," she drawled. "I didn't think you could brew such a potion. Professor Slughorn must be pleased." Someone sniggered. "After all, you are a person of rare talent- it's rare when you show such talent. Your parents must be exceptionally pleased." And from what Rhaegar said she'd uttered in comparison to this, it was rather pathetic and kind.

But Willamar already snapped.

She's said enough.

"Athelinda," he barked.

Athelinda's head snapped up. Willamar looked at her frostily. He jerked his head, he certainly wasn't going to dignify her with a respectful sentence, after that.

She looked at him with coolness. "Has Rhaegar talked to you?" She asked. "Did he ask you to be his errand boy from now on?"

"What does it matter?" His patience was getting even thinner. "It matters because I will not be anyone's slave, nor will I walk in anyone's shadow!" She hissed.

"You're only a slave by your own actions, Athelinda!" He barked. "You've become a bully- and a hully is always a weak, pathetic victim who couldn't stand up for themselves."

She recoiled. "How dare you," she hissed.

"I'd dare more than that," Willamar snarled. "You're weak, and selfish. You're egoistic and glory-seeking! You think that you're better than anyone else, just because there are flaws in this world that needs repairing! Well, let me tell you something, Athelinda- you're _not _better than anyone else! At least Ministers of Magic, and other corrupt officials have left school and gained experience in this world, yet here you act as if you were the one responsible for anything good, and everyone else deserves your contempt!" He grabbed her wrist, when she squealed in pain, he loosened his grip slightly, but not enough for her to pull away.

"They don't deserve your contempt," he went on. "In fact, they who inflict contempt upon others without reason, deserves more contempt than all put together. Keep that in mind!" He snarled, before thrusting her to the ground, so she fell to the floor. He strode away.

* * *

_I am not weak! _Something within her hissed. _I will never be beaten. _

Everyone else- her brothers- were the weak ones. She was stronger and more powerful than they. Or she will be even stronger and more powerful than they.

She narrowed her eyes. She was more powerful and stronger- she would prove it.

* * *

The good news? Grindelwald's forces were being pushed back.

Everyone cheered when the news was announced in the Great Hall.

But, they were warned. It was not victory yet.

As for the bad news?

A less than two days after the news, and four days after the confrontations, when someone came screaming, tearing through the castle.

It was Olive Hornby.

She came screaming, running to the Heads of Houses, and eventually the Headmaster came running as fast as he could, while Professor Slughorn made her drink a tonic to keep her calm.

Rhaegar watched the scene wide-eyed and in horror.

Just as they thought when the monster behind the attacks (literally or metaphorically, whoever, or whatever did it, was a monster), had stopped (although he was more cynical than that), a girl was found in the bathroom.

However, unlike the predecessors to such gruesome treatment, this girl was found dead.

He looked on in horror, his face white.

As the girl was placed upon a stretcher in the bathroom on the first-floor.

It was Myrtle Warren- the girl Athelinda had so ruthlessly tormented.

She was dead- cold, white and utterly void of life.

Rhaegar stood still white and cold with shock.

Now the future seemed more chilling than he imagined.

* * *

Rhaegar stood still and cold, he had yet to relay the news to the Gryffindors- he didn't want to.

How could this happen? What could this mean?

Myrtle Warren was dead- not only her life, but her future as well- a chance for a future to prove herself and rise higher than those who bullied her- was gone.

She was tormented. Miserable. Harassed mercilessly. And she spent the last moments of her life weeping until the terrifying moment when death came for her.

What must it have felt like? He wondered. Would she have time to be terrified- even mildly afraid? Did she know what was happening, or did the monster take her by surprise?

All her chances were gone.

I hope Athelinda was happy, he thought bitterly. That was what he said to her when he confronted her.

"What?" She had exclaimed.

"Satisfied now?" Rhaegar's eyes were unnaturally bright. "The girl you tormented is now dead- and the last thing that she felt before her end was misery- because of the likes of you!"

His sister had paled. She never imagined. A shadow of her former self came up- guilt and shame. Sorrow and regret. But then...

"She asked for it," she sneered. "Someone wanted to spend the rest of her life lying useless and miserable inside a toilet. What a weakling."

Luckily for her, the teachers came into the room.

Rhaegar stood in shock.

Now the parents would have to be informed. Hogwarts would close down. Roughly a thousand years ago, all this- the Founders' Great Legacy- had started- now it was about to end.

Or so he thought.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" Rhaegar could not remember who spoke- Dumbledore or Dippet.

He stood frozen as Tom Riddle- his sister's hated 'friend'- had his wand pointed at a huge figure, with bushy hair, and whose normally merry, twinkling black eyes were wide and fearful.

Rubeus Hagrid was brought before the Headmaster and his Head of House, thus.

"Headmaster," Tom's black eyes were chips of dark volcanic stone which held the flickering remains of lava. "This boy was found keeping monsters within the castle.

Rhaegar heard a gasp. He stifled the urge to groan and bury his face in his hands. _Oh, Hagrid, what have you done?_

"Monster?" Dippet gasped. "A monster?"

"An Acromantula," Tom said, his eyes burning. He gripped the shoulder of Hagrid's robes tighter. "As some may know, Acromantula venom paralyses- and in larger doses, is lethal."

Everyone gave a collective gasp. Everyone that is, except Dumbledore.

"An Acromantula?!" Rhaegar lost track of the conversation.

His mind went blank.

He remembered what was said about the Founders.

They weren't stupid. Salazar Slytherin wasn't stupid.

Neither he nor his fellow founders, guilty or not, would have built something without the other three's knowledge. But if they did, they would not be so stupid enough as to allow the easy possibility of a student having the ability to release something that was kept secret within the castle. Furthermore, it would not have been someone like Hagrid. He wasn't foolish, but he wasn't the brightest student, to tell the truth. The Founders would never have allowed the possibility of someone like Hagrid opening up any of their secrets which they guarded deep inside the castle- if they had one.

Furthermore, if Riddle claimed that Hagrid did it on purpose, he didn't know who he was supposed to be fooling. Hagrid loved even the most dangerous or the most boring of creatures, and with Hagrid's secret status as half-giant (yes, Rhaegar knew), he would have never, ever, _ever_, attacked a Muggle-born.

And there was the fact that Acromantulas were native to South-East Asia- Borneo and Kalimantan.

"No!" He found himself suddenly shouting.

"It wasn't him."

Everyone turned and stared.

He turned to the person, whom he thought was the most reasonable- Dumbledore.

"The Founders weren't stupid," he found himself repeating his thoughts.

Dumbledore nodded, approvingly. "There, you see Armando? Common sense from the most logical."

"It does not discount the fact that this boy has been keeping monsters inside this very castle!" Dippet shrieked.

"Aragog's not a monster!" Hagrid protested. "He's jus' misunderstood! He's harmless- he never hurt anybody- never!"

Rhaegar withheld the urge to groan again. Hagrid was _not _helping. He shot him a covert look which told him to shut up.

"Acromantulas are classified with a five x status," Rhaegar said firmly, to remind Hagrid, but also to make certain that when he did speak for Hagrid, no one would accuse him of bias. "They are known Wizard-killers, whether or not the one you had killed yet, there is always a likely chance- whether you want to admit it or not!" He said sternly. "And you brought it into a castle full of adolescent students? You risked their lives- I have never been more disappointed in you, Hagrid."

Hagrid looked down in shame.

"Well said!" Dippet cried. He nodded to several teachers, and to Riddle. "Take him to a secure room in the dungeons- I'll be contacting the Ministry."

"Wait," Rhaegar said. He looked at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore gave Dippet a piercing gaze. "It is not likely," Dumbledore said. "That Hagrid was behind these attacks- or that acromantula of his. Acromantula venom _is _toxic- but based on the descriptions you gave me, Riddle, the spider that you have glimpsed, is a young one. It would have been enough to paralyse, but only mildly. It would not have been enough to petrify, and it certainly would not be enough to kill."

Everyone stared.

Riddle stood like a column of ice.

Dumbledore looked at Dippet. "It was not Hagrid."

They stood still.

"Furthermore, we must take into account what Rhaegar has said. No adolescent student- no matter how accomplished he is in Care of Magical Creatures- has enough skill to control a creature, or to magically petrify and kill the way these pupils have been dealt with," Dumbledore said calmly. "He is not guilty."

Rhaegar looked at Riddle.

The boy looked like he had been slapped in the face. Normally Rhaegar would have rejoiced, but something was off.

Did he know- did he _want _Hagrid to be expelled or arrested? Why? He wasn't sure that Hagrid had ever gotten into anybody's bad side- apart from being too fond of animals, particularly the exotic and dangerous kinds.

But then... What if it wasn't about Hagrid alone? What if...

Then it hit him.

Rhaegar once again lost track of everything, before everyone started to leave. Hagrid was taken to the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore went as well- Hagrid's father had died, and who knew where his mother was?

But before Tom Riddle could make an exit, Rhaegar spoke.

"Strange," he said softly, but just loud enough for him to here.

Riddle turned. "What?" He asked.

It was the first time either of them spoke directly to one another.

"The staff gave the announcement that Hogwarts might close down," Rhaegar continued in the same tone. "The students would be sent back to their homes. You love it so much here at Hogwarts. Straight after the announcement was confirmed- you come bearing a 'culprit', whom you caught red-handed. All by yourself- with no assistance," he looked at Riddle.

There was something unsettling- frightening even, about Rhaegar's eyes. Something frightening, alright. Something which spoke of death- of combat, of blood-shed, of masses dead, and burning villages.

"How did you do it?" Rhaegar asked quietly. "I'm sure I would like to know. Dumbledore too. "

He tilted his head to one side.

The two wizards- only teenagers, yet so much more, regarded one each other.

There was something powerful, something burning brightly in both pairs of eyes.

Neither of them was what they seemed.

* * *

Hagrid was expelled.

There was nothing anyone could do- not even Dumbledore, Kettleburn and Rhaegar's own protests could be enough to save him from that.

He might have been proven innocent- Dippet checked with several healers, medi-wizards, Slughorn and various officials and medical persons- but the fact was he brought a dangerous creature into the castle- a castle-full of students.

Luckily, Dumbledore managed to persuade Dippet to allow Hagrid to stay- he had no family, anyway. Ogg the Gamekeeper had a new assistant- an apprentice.

Hagrid was resigned- he was optimistic and was happy. He made the best of things, and Rhaegar was glad.

But Tom Riddle often found Rhaegar's eyes, watching him when he least expected it. Dumbledore wasn't the only one who kept a close watch on him.

And he had a feeling that this boy might be more than he seemed.

Like his sister.

* * *

_**Wow, I'm sorry! I had exams! Yeah, this was the bit where things got really dramatic. Ogg was the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts at the time- Hagrid was likely made his assistant rather than Ogg being fired so Hagrid could take his role. As for acromantula venom- well, remember the mandrakes? They were babies, and Professor Sprout said that their cries weren't strong enough to be lethal- what if Acromantula venom- small as Aragog was when the flashback in Chamber of Secrets was seen- was not as potent because the spider had not fully matured? But I don't think Athelinda will be too happy to discount the possibility that Tom was mistaken or lying. She's now on better terms than she was with her brothers. **_

_**Next chapter- Rhaegar's belated coming-of-age ceremony- and how he makes his mark on the world- what his sister will do- and their little sister's coming to Hogwarts! **_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

**_"Is this what family is like: the feeling that everyone's connected, that with one piece missing, the whole thing's broken?"_**

**_Trenton Lee Stewart_**

_14th July, 1943..._

"Rhaegar son of Andreas, do you accept the responsibilities and duties of an adult Volsunga?"

"I do, sir." Rhaegar intoned solemnly.

Everyone stood still watching this boy.

But not everyone was there. In fact his sisters were not.

Rhaegar stood still as he remembered his last conversation with his youngest sister.

She would be preparing for Hogwarts. The school Rhaegar had just left.

Athelinda… that was another story.

But he was on his own, now. And he had to steel himself- not for what happens next to him- but what may happen to the ones he loved- the girl he hadn't seen since he set her free, the sisters and brother he left behind...

Rhaegar stood silently as a wand was risen high in the air, followed by more wands. An incantation was murmured and beams of light radiated downwards towards him.

It was done. And as a searing pain settled upon his wrist he stood rigid, not daring to cry out. This was his decision- once he endured this- and only if he was strong enough to withstand the pain without crying out- he would join them.

The army.

* * *

_September 1__st__ 1943…_

Athelinda watched as the first-years were escorted into the Great Hall. Their eyes were massive as they looked around, trying to take everything in at once.

She couldn't help but smile- and it was a genuine, kind smile, for once.

Among them, little Philomena walked on, gazing wide-eyed, speechless in awe at the ceiling, dotted with stars from the night sky.

The introductions were made.

The sorting hat was placed upon the stool.

It began to sing.

Some of the older students chuckled as they heard the song, but Athelinda wasn't listening. Her eyes were focused solely on her little sister.

She missed the girl- the one sibling she still felt close to.

The one sibling she would do anything to rush forwards and cuddle.

Afterwards the first of the names were called out.

"Abbott, Margaret!"

A blonde-haired little girl hopped up to the stool and the hat was placed on her head. Athelinda could barely breathe from excitement and nerves- what house would her sister be in? Would she get to see Philomena more, from then on?

"_Hufflepuff!"_ The Sorting Hat shouted. The Hufflepuff table stood and cheered. Athelinda could glimpse Willamar grinning and clapping enthusiastically.

Her little sister… She could do so much better than that.

Willamar was weak. And wrong. He could not be allowed to influence her any more.

The next child, a boy named "Fletcherly, Stuart!" was called up. He was Gryffindor.

She refused to think about her eldest brother who would have warmly welcomed him.

He was no loss to her, now that he left Hogwarts.

It took ages.

Tom smiled at her.

"Your sister?" He asked, gesturing towards Philomena.

Athelinda smiled.

"Yes," she said simply. "The sister I'm proud of. She's a brilliant girl- meant for so much more."

She fell silent as the Hufflepuffs cheered "Ackerly, William!"

Finally it was Philomena's turn.

Athelinda gave her sister an encouraging nod.

The hat was silent.

Everyone started shifting impatiently and whispering. The teachers looked at one another.

Philomena was a hatstall, it appeared.

Athelinda shifted nervously and bit her lip. Tom reached out his hand and took hers. She welcomed the touch, and he rubbed his other hand on her arm.

"Everything will be fine," he said.

Finally the Sorting Hat

It took a while, but then it called out, _"Ravenclaw!"_

The Ravenclaw table instantly jumped to their feet and started cheering loudly.

There was a Ravenclaw in their family. Who knew?

A Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff, a Slytherin and finally a Ravenclaw- they must have been the only siblings to have been placed in different houses.

Dumbledore himself looked amused and pleasantly surprised.

The other staff smiled, they probably knew this girl was going to be as brilliant as her elder siblings.

The Ravenclaws, by the way they enthusiastically welcomed Philomena, probably knew that too.

Willamar sighed wistfully, but inwardly, he remembered Rhaegar had been worried that their youngest sister would be sorted into Slytherin- he had absolutely nothing against them, but he feared that Philomena would end up in their sister's- and Tom Riddle's- control.

He would have to go through great lengths to keep her out of their way- he could no longer deny that Athelinda was changed- and he was also starting to become very suspicious of Tom Riddle.

The school announced it was closing- and all of a sudden, Tom Riddle showed up with a 'culprit'?

Hagrid had one of the kindest hearts Willamar had ever known. There was no possible way that he could have orchestrated any of the attacks- which somehow stopped when Tom Riddle came forwards.

But it couldn't possibly be- Tom Riddle- heir of Slytherin? For all he knew a dark wizard snuck in and was cursing Muggle-born students.

It could be nothing more than a myth- but somehow, that belief was breaking in the students.

No monster had ever been found and yet… Hagrid could not have possibly been behind the attacks- no third-year student could have been.

The start-of-term feast progressed. Willamar grinned happily and to show his little sister that he was proud of her, and loved her.

"Tensions?" Someone asked beside him.

"Huh?" Willamar turned towards his closest friend.

Angus looked pityingly. "Will," he sighed. "I know how it is. Your sister- she's changed."

Willamar closed his eyes in humiliation.

"Will," Angus placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "She'll come back- she's family after all- she'll remember."

Willamar sighed. He wished he could be optimistic- but he didn't have to be a seer to know that something was about to get even worse.

Soon afterwards, the students were led away.

Willamar followed the usual routine for the first-years- after he introduced them to the Fat Friar who greeted them warmly.

His mood had brightened somewhat- before he came across a few students who reminded him of Feodora when they laughed.

She had the warmest, sweetest laugh.

He swallowed. He would not think of that- he spent the whole holidays thinking about her.

He focused on guiding the first-years.

_Remove from your mind,_ he thought to himself. _Remove utterly from your mind._

If only that was possible.

Miserably, he hoped Rhaegar was having a better time than him.

* * *

Athelinda seethed inwardly.

She didn't mind the awed and impressed stares of the new students as they gazed around, and the news that Tom had been made Head Boy certainly cheered her up- how Rhaegar would have _loved_ that- Tom taking his place of influence- but Rhaegar had left the school, whereas she was still stuck making sure the first-years and any forgetful idiots knew where the bathrooms were and where the new passwords were placed.

She gritted her teeth. Two more years. Damn them. She loved this place, but this was a place for preparation- not battles fought and won, not achievements and glory gained, a place where students learned about the great sorcerers in books, instead of having their names and deeds recorded.

Where Athelinda would have to smile and simper sweetly to get her way from the teachers- where she would have to buy Slughorn his favourite crystallised pineapple and help him buy his potion ingredients.

But if Athelinda were to be honest with herself, she had to admit that she had been doing it for a very long time- as long as she could remember being at Hogwarts. She knew Griselda Penrose was the prefect before her, and it was unlikely that anyone would be taking her place before she left, but Athelinda dreamed of gaining influence- so she could set things right, of course- and if prefect was the way to gain it… well.

She didn't know why she had been so sulky when she received the responsibilities, nor why she was so uninterested and bored when she had to stick her nose in other people's business- now she was beginning to think better. She needed to do this- she didn't know what they were saying- and what if they were saying that could threaten her safety- or Tom's? All the insanity that went around after Slytherin's monster- she admitted she wished the monster would strike Slytherin's enemies, so they would know respect. But of course there was trouble- and the ministry was growing even more suspicious of them.

So when Hagrid was brought to the Headmaster and the heads of houses, she felt a tremendous relief. Lately, she had been annoyed by Hagrid- the responsibilities of being a prefect, she assumed. The enormous oaf had a habit of sneaking absurd creatures within the castle- even if Hagrid did not open the Chamber of Secrets, he did sneak a monster in, that threatened lives- expulsion was no less than he deserved. But she did feel relieved that the whole 'monster under Slytherin's command' issue was resolved when Tom caught Hagrid and brought him to the Headmaster. It was over, and she was thankful.

She spied a few students with prank materials and immediately went over to confiscate them- and warn them with Slughorn and their parents.

She smirked, feeling relieved and cheerful now that the monster thing was out of the way.

* * *

A few days later Willamar was striking a conversation with Alphard Black.

"So I take it your brother is now a cadet?" Alphard asked, one elegant eyebrow raised.

"Yes," Willamar said proudly. "Though I wish he were here," he said regretfully.

"Hmmph," Alphard responded. "Our new Head Boy... Rhaegar didn't seem to like him much."

"No," Willamar's face darkened. "Didn't you find it odd- the moment the news was announced- Tom Riddle came forwards bearing a 'culprit'? Someone he caught out of the blue, without long investigation?"

"Now that you mention it, yes." Alphard sighed. "But what can we do? I'm in his house, and I know how many friends he's got- and the teachers are all on his side."

Willamar scowled. "Except Dumbledore- only he seems to show any sense. And I don't think 'friends' is the correct word if you believe Rhaegar."

"You mean his 'followers'." Alphard looked grim. "They do tend to revolve rather suspiciously around him, don't they?"

"You're in his house," Willamar reasoned. "Did you ever see-"

"Nothing," Alphard said grimly. "Nothing at all."

There was nothing suspicious about Tom's sayings and doings- not even long ago.

"What about my sister?" Willamar asked. "We never spoke to each other during the break- she didn't even speak with Rhaegar."

Alphard frowned. "A family disagreement?"

Willamar laughed harshly. "To put it mildly."

Alphard sighed. Family disagreements were nothing new to him. He never liked his family. If he didn't have a conscience, he would denounce them in public as Pure-blood Supremacists and supporters of Grindelwald. They were his family after all.

"She goes about as usual- does her duties, fawns and helps the teachers, and behind their backs is unbelievably harsh to those she doesn't like- and she has a large group of followers herself now- even though she mocks them sometimes, they seem to _like _it. They're now openly going out- her and Riddle." He laughed. "I never thought I'd see either of them as lovebirds."

Willamar grunted, but inwardly he felt a terrible sinking feeling. Oh, no.

"They're attracting a large crowd together," Alphard said, confirming his worst fears.

"Right," Willamar sighed. "I know you're not in her house- but you are in theirs, so I'll play my part, but I need you to help me- with a favour?"

"What favour?" Alphard sounded puzzled.

"My sister," Willamar explained. "My youngest sister- Philomena. She's in Ravenclaw, but as you're in Athelinda's and Riddle's house, can you please make sure they don't do anything to get her into their influence- we don't need either of them to have any more followers, certainly, not my youngest sister. She deserves to grow in the light, in a place of her own."

Alphard nodded. "I understand."

"Thank you," Willamar said softly. "I can't thank you enough." His face was full of sorrow. "She's changed- I've lost so much."

He closed his eyes and there was an image of a brown-haired burning girl.

* * *

The term progressed, and true to everyone's predictions, Philomena proved to be as exceedingly brilliant- outstanding actually- as her brothers and sister.

The teachers were awed and impressed- as were the other pupils who were beginning to go to her for help. Ravenclaw was proud- the most academically-brilliant house now had one of them for their own.

But Willamar and Athelinda's relationship deteriorated, if it didn't break down completely.

Willamar always showed up when Athelinda tried to make an approach towards her youngest sister, and either took her away or stayed glued to her side as Athelinda spoke to her- she couldn't do or say anything to Philomena without Willamar being there.

It enraged her even further- that he would consider her a _threat _to their little sister- as if Athelinda would ever _harm_ her, or tell her to do anything stupid- that he might even be saying to her things about Athelinda behind the latter's back.

And no doubt he was writing to Rhaegar.

She was starting to hate him.

And there were news that Grindelwald may be in retreat- there was a victory won by the Volsunga clan- including their father. Everyone cheered happily, and hugged each other- surely this would mean the end of the war.

But they celebrated too early.

The term went on. The three siblings achieved record-breaking marks- like their eldest brother- as usual. Their parents sent them their love, but Athelinda was beginning to grow bored with the letters her parents were sending her- telling her they loved her all the time, as if she didn't knew that, and the sweets, cakes and parcels of clothing. Athelinda wanted something more- she wanted to achieve those things herself.

She wanted to get out of Hogwarts.

Not that she ever wanted to leave without coming back, but she wanted to _live_. And not in another's shadow.

Her brother had been accepted into the Armed Forces. He was being promoted so quickly Athelinda could not even keep track, even if she bothered to try.

She couldn't even remember when he was in training.

Now he was in a position of command- but when she heard what Willamar said to Philomena, about Rhaegar being too critical about their recent victory, Athelinda gritted her teeth. Willamar said that the other military leaders were happy, but Rhaegar felt it was too easy- or too cleverly-planned out to seem like a good victory.

He was right.

* * *

It was an 'elastic band' strategy, as the Muggles would have said.

The Christmas holidays were just beginning.

No senior military personnel took Rhaegar seriously because the boy was freshly out of school- what experienced, hardened military commander would take his advice into account when everyone else said different?

But yes, one had to be critical.

* * *

_21st December 1943..._

Athelinda stood frozen in shock- only this time, it was the sight that greeted her eyes as she looked at the house.

She had arrived... to find this.

The house had been empty- her mother had gone.

Until a patronus appeared out of nowhere.

It was a fox- her mother's.

The fox opened her mouth.

"Athelinda!" her mother's voice. "Leave this place- make for Glasgow- use the portal we used last time, to go to the Kataris Acropolis from there- Philomena and Willamar have been given the message. I am already in Kataris for your father's meetings, but they've blocked all the portals, and any form of transportation- even the portkeys. They wouldn't let me get home to get the three of you," her voice rose in frustration and panic. "You must go! Grindelwald's forces are invading Britain- your brother was right! It was nothing more than a distraction. Get to your siblings and get out of there!"

Athelinda stood still in shock while the patronus disappeared.

She turned around and screamed, "Willamar! Philomena!" She ran out of the manor.

But the sight she saw horrified her to the core.

There were people screaming in the distance. Willamar and Philomena were nowhere to be seen.

Explosions went forth in the distance. Athelinda's eyes widened and she ran into the manor before the foreign wizards could zoom close enough, as they dropped explosives in lines everywhere they went in the air.

But she had to run out again. Her siblings were nowhere to be seen, even though she screamed throughout the empty rooms and echoes of her house.

They were in trouble.

Her heart pounding fanatically, her mind racing, she drew out her wand. "Willamar!" She screamed again. "Philomena!"

Where were those two?

The last she saw they were in the nearest settlement buying sweets or what-not. She had returned without them, but they promised they would be back by now.

"Willamar!" She screamed again. "Philomena!" Even their dear House-Elf was gone.

She was alone.

Her eyes grew massive as she spotted an air-ship coming this way.

It readied to launch magical explosives- more powerful than any Muggle ones- from the air.

Athelinda ran inside the manor.

Praying that they got the message and somehow would make it safely to Glasgow together- and from there to Kataris, the Atlantean Volsunga City- she wasted no more time.

There was nothing she could do now.

She instantly went to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and all but leapt into it. She threw the powder down instantly before she screamed "Glasgow Portal station!"

The flames leapt up, emerald and bright. She felt herself being pulled away.

But the floo-network must have been closed down, because Athelinda felt herself being thrown out of a fireplace before she knew it.

She landed on the floor on her front with a loud thump.

This was not Glasgow.

She stood straight.

Where was she?

* * *

The answer was London.

She recognized the city.

This was not good.

Athelinda immediately ran out the deserted shop she was in.

She ran as fast as she could.

But then she spotted various peoples running out of their houses. Many of them held small children, bundled hastily and crying, clutching a favourite teddy bear or doll.

Everyone was panicking. Adults were yelling at each other and gesticulating madly.

They were all running.

She grabbed the shoulder of a man.

"What's happening?" She cried out.

The man looked at her incredulously.

"Grindelwald has landed- he's invading."

Athelinda's eyes widened.

She had to get out of there.

"Please," she whispered. "Do you know how to get to Glasgow?"

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry."

They parted ways. Grindelwald's invasion must have been enough for the whole city to be evacuated.

Athelinda ran desperately through the streets when she was stopped all of a sudden.

There were screams coming from her left.

Men clad in black arrived. Many of them wore wizard-armour- a mixture of battle-robes and body-armour. Masks covered their faces. She knew who they were.

Grindelwald's army had already arrived.

One of the soldiers shot a jet of green light, and it landed upon a running man who fell forwards, dead.

She drew her own wand.

She would not die this way.

If there was no escape- well, she would escape. But if there was none, she would fight.

A mother screamed, trying to shield her children.

This she would not accept.

Athelinda shot a jet of red light- a hex- towards the attacking soldier.

He crumpled.

The mother looked at her with wide eyes, as did her children. "Go!" She shouted.

They wasted no time.

Unfortunately it drew the attentions of other soldiers.

She readied herself.

Her form was perfect- she was ready.

They wasted no time.

Jets of spells exploded from their wands, either to be blocked, dodged or counterattacked upon, by Athelinda.

She might not have won against Rhaegar but she would not lose against them.

She fought like an angel, or so some later said.

Soon four went down.

The others doubled their efforts.

She shielded herself- cast spells towards them, didn't even stop to watch them go down. Dozens of them arrived, but they did not deter her.

She cast spells that would take several out at a time- even if only for distraction, such as _Aqua Eructo_.

She blocked a fire-spell. She caused a house to crumble and its stones to fall upon the soldiers.

One of them shot more fire- she blocked using a source of water which she sprung up and threw at them. Others were starting to stare. But Athelinda was too busy to tell them to get out of there.

More soldiers came- only to decide that she wasn't worth the effort and went running.

Athelinda stood still. But she knew they didn't have long.

She looked at the spectators.

"Go!" She barked at them.

They took off running.

She had to get out of there.

It was a pity she couldn't apparate yet.

And she wasn't mad to attempt a broomstick.

Grindelwald must have found a way to get his main forces to arrive by sea.

But before she could run further, a jet of light crossed her path and exploded the wall next to her.

She halted immediately.

A soldier to her right.

She steeled herself. But before either of them could do anything, a jet of light shot out and hit the soldier, taking him unawares.

He crumpled. Athelinda turned wildly.

A tall figure emerged- a young one, though.

It was Tom.

"Athelinda," he breathed.

His eyes were wide and feverishly brilliant. Almost as if he were emotional.

* * *

Athelinda didn't know what to think.

Before thinking, he had opened his arms and she launched herself at him.

And if Rhaegar had seen, nothing would have stopped him from performing an Unforgivable Curse on Riddle.

But Athelinda didn't care. She had no one else. Neither did he.

They were alone.

Only God knew where her family were.

She felt so alone- and she was.

She was with him now.

She could not help but feel everything was alright.

"Are you alright?" He asked breathlessly, desperately.

"How did you find me?" She was in disbelief.

Tom blinked. "Some people claimed to have seen a girl fighting Grindelwald's soldiers- someone who matched your description. I came as quick as I could." His face steeled. "We have to get out of here."

"My family's gone," Athelinda said. She swallowed. Desperately praying that nothing bad had happened to them, she continued, "They're all in the Acropolis of Kataris- the Volsunga City. Except for Philomena and Willamar. I can't find them- they were in the town but they didn't get home."

Tom's eyes hardened. "You can't wait for them. We need to go, now!"

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her as they both ran.

"We're going north," he said. "There's a cottage there, by the sea. They won't get to us."

"Are you sure?" She asked sceptically. Grindelwald's forces was likely to have arrived by sea, considering the number.

"I'm certain," Tom said. "The Fidelius Charm."

She was startled. "Who's the Secret Keeper?"

He looked at her. "Me."

They disapparated.

* * *

The cottage was a lovely place, Athelinda had to admit. Charming, though simple and rustic. It certainly had none of the opulence and grandeur of her manor or the Slytherin Common Room and dormitories, but she liked it.

It was a half-timbered cottage with a thatched straw roof. The windows were wide and charming. she would have taken it, even if it were a shack. Inside was clean- which she was absurdly grateful for- comfortable and warm.

A fire burned in the living room, there was a sofa- it didn't look new but it was in good condition and clean and comfortably-soft, a coffee table, a small table in the dining room with plate4s, mugs and eating utensils stacked neatly on top, two chairs, as well as a kitchen with a clean stove, oven, pantry, sink and cabinets.

She turned to Tom. "I thought you said you lived in an orphanage?" She raised her brows.

"I do," Tom said simply. "But they kick you out once you're eighteen- I started looking for some place to live when I came of age in our world. The Muggles don't really care a whit about the futures of the children they're keeping- they're not family."

She didn't think so, she thought. Tom never really had a family. Her heart ached for him- but she would never show pity- Tom would never accept that any more than she would.

He told her his maternal family were wizards- so his mother _was_ a witch. But on the other hand, despite coming from a line of pure-bloods that stretched back for nearly a thousand years, their wealth had been squandered due to a lack of common sense and a liking for grandeur. They loved in poverty for so long, until when his mother fell in love with a wealthy Muggle aristocrat. They eloped but he left her when he discovered she was a witch. She'd been pregnant then, desperate and starving, she ended up on the doorstep of a Muggle orphanage on New Year's Eve 1926 and died giving birth to Tom whom she left in the Muggles' care.

It wasn't a bad place, but it wasn't a place Athelinda would want her child to grow up in. There was a strong lack of family and love in that place, although the children were reasonably cared for. He had no friends. Strange things happened around him so the other children, and even his caretakers were afraid of him.

Until he came to Hogwarts, he had no home.

Athelinda thought of her home. How it was home, but never really felt like it. She was Atlantean. She could not forget that- not a native Briton. Everyone else never forgot it. It was as if she never completely belonged. No matter Arthur and Merlin.

Athelinda turned towards Tom. She tried to smile, but found she couldn't. He'd lost his family. It was not something she would wish on _anyone_. Not even those she held in contempt.

Her heart tore for him- despite all he had done- and he had accomplished so much- he had nothing and no one.

She tried to swallow.

What she said to Rhaegar... to Willamar... How she wished she had never said it. How she wished she could take everything back as if she had never spoken them. How she wished she had never crossed the most unforgivable of lines.

What if she lost them? What if she never saw them again?

There was no way she could ever get to Glasgow now- not to its portal. She could never meet up with her family in Kataris, if Grindelwald's forces had truly invaded.

She took a deep breath, keeping it all in.

"My snakes?" She asked. She kept her voice firm. "They're at the house, I can't just leave..." her throat tightened.

Tom nodded. He gestured towards several urns in a corner. Athelinda's heart leapt to her throat. She slowly approached and with trembling hands she lifted one of the lids.

Several heads poked and slithered out. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't sob. she held her composure and breathed deeply. The snakes slithered and coiled around her, climbing up her arms and nuzzling her, as their way of embrace.

She took several breaths and turned to Tom. "Thank you." She said. She was almost shaking. If she had lost her friends... "How did you-"

"I was afraid for you," he admitted. "I went to your manor. I ran around, I used magic to reveal the presence of your little friends. I explained things to them and they got me to take them here when they heard me promise to try and find you."

She rose. "Thank you." She nodded, and Tom held out his arms. She stepped into them, but slowly. She never lost her composure. She was unpredictable though.

Tom admired her for that. She didn't burst out wailing, despite what happened, didn't show her panic. He never could stomach the small ones' wailing in the orphanage...

"So," he said softly. he pulled her into an embrace. There was strong warmth and something else inside of him. Something he wasn't sure he would be able to accept, but knew that he would never be able to go without her. "I'll take care of you. When the opportunity comes up, I'll take you to Glasgow and to Kataris. I promise, I will never let any of them touch you... And I keep my promises."

They stayed like that for a while. Athelinda felt the softness of the linen beneath her cheek and the warmth of his toned body. He was strong and calm. She wished she had said and done better to her siblings and parents. She had no idea how priceless every minute was with them... Now all she had was Tom. She wasn't sure she would see any of them again.

They pulled each other tighter before Athelinda pulled away. Tom looked confused, puzzled. But she was turned away and he didn't see.

"Thank you for saving me," she said sounding oddly formal. "I'll do my best around here, I won't be too much of a burden. Won't the Muggle orphanage expect you back? I mean if you're underage in their world-"

He shook his head. Unbeknownst to her, he had secretly modified their memories. There had never been a Tom Riddle at the orphanage at any point in time. Not ever.

This was the first step of the journey. The one he would undertake to transform first his life and identity, then his future and the world.

He had not counted upon her being a part of it, in the way that she was starting to become.

But there was no other possibility- not for him.

The two of them had tea, and Tom showed her where she would sleep.

She protested when he showed her the room he had up there. It was his.

But he insisted. He would take the couch, he said, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

So the two of them settled in. There were numerous wards around the cottage, and there appeared to be no weakness in the barriers. Athelinda lit a fire in the living room. She made dinner with Tom, she set the table and they ate at first in silence, and then he started to talk, to break the ice a little and diffuse the tension.

Eventually the conversation became easy and relaxed. They never discussed silly things- it always filled them with disgust despite tolerating such things when conversing with others. But they were calm and happy, although they didn't laugh madly or get drunk, there were no pretences, no unpleasantness. The meals he had eaten alone for necessary sustenance to ease his irritating hunger were forgotten. He actually enjoyed this. Enjoyed talking with her, enjoyed seeing her smile, enjoyed hearing her laugh, though like him, she didn't do it frequently. He found her company, not only pleasant in a way he never found anyone else's- always secretly preferring to be alone- but he felt warm and happy in a way he had never been before in all his years of living and breathing.

At some point, his eyes fixed upon her and he smiled. Without knowing it, she realised too late when his hand clasped hers. Her stomach felt strangely fluttery.

She smiled. She rose and collected the dishes, he tried to protest but she didn't even say anything, barely sparing him a glance which diffused any argument.

They settled down on the sofa.

The fire flickered and danced. The snakes coiled themselves at the feet of the sofa, basking in the warmth of the fire and the softness of the rug.

It was so quiet. So peaceful. She had a cup of tea in her hand, soothing chamomile, and he had elf-made wine in a glass. There was a book on ancient magical practices and traditions, but she didn't read. They just stood there, staring at the fire, and the twigs which crackled and snapped, watching its glow and the logs illuminate in its recesses. Their wands rested on the tea table nearby.

She didn't want to break the peace. She still feared for her family- especially her siblings Willamar and Philomena. But she was determined not to waste or embitter this moment with Tom, a boy who had become so strangely, and yet so understandably important in her life.

Now he was her family. She realised, belatedly and feeling fragile, just how important family was. How she ceased to function without them.

She wondered what he must have gone through on his own.

And Tom's hand subconsciously found hers and they held each other's, watching the firelight. Everything was calm and quiet, none of them said a word. But there was warmth and light and each other. Strangely, for Tom Riddle, it might be enough.

So this was what it meant to have someone, he reflected. Someone in a true sense. In truth Tom didn't really want to take her back to her family, even if it meant going to the Great Library there and finding secrets about powerful magic which he had actually intended to, and still did.

He wondered if he had gained something more valuable. And yet...

The fear of death needed to be quenched and his desire for power needed to be satisfied. The road he was going might just ease both as well as gaining _her. _

It might just work.

He must play his cards right.

* * *

They went to bed that night, and Tom settled down on the sofa. He didn't mind. He felt warm and safe and content the way he had never been before in his life. He felt happy and comfortable.

How absurdly strange, his lips twisted. How... He scowled but before he could think further, Athelinda appeared from above.

She smiled at him. He frowned.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Why don't you come upstairs?" She asked. Her delicate hand rested upon the bannister.

He blinked. "But I-"

She shook her head. "This is your house. You've saved my life. You're more than you imagine and I can't let you sleep down there. Come upstairs. It will be alright."

And thus saying she descended, in a white nightgown and dressing gown and took his hand, gently pulling him up. Her black eyes glinted. He was puzzled and tried to work this out.

"You might as well come," she said. "It's better than sleeping down here."

She pulled him up the stairs.

They entered the bedroom, and it was a good thing Tom managed to salvage a double four-poster bed from the Shrieking Shack. The bed was in surprisingly good condition, a few repairs and a clean-up were all that was needed, and new sheets, mattress, pillows and eiderdown and counterpane. Athelinda led him into the bedroom and smiled, drawing back the covers and settling herself down.

He told himself not to be foolish. She was inviting him to sleep in the bed. It was kindness on her part- she thought to repay his.

Tom ignored everything else which was going on and settled down, she drew the covers around them, without even saying an incantation, the curtains closed.

Tom felt peace, and something else, which he did not care to find out. He was stronger than that. But he thought it would be beneficial, but it was so much more.

Together they closed their eyes and slept through the night.

* * *

_In Kataris the next day..._

"Where is she?" Katerina wailed.

Absurdly, her younger son and daughter had made it.

Willamar stood as the Muggles would say, shell-shocked (metaphorically) and Philomena was pale as a ghost. They never made it to her. They had gotten the patronus, and Willamar- being of age- apparated them both to Glasgow and to the portal. He had been assured- and thus assured himself and his little sister- that their sister was resourceful enough to get to Glasgow and Kataris without his help. Knowing her, that was what they all thought.

"Where did you last see her?" Rhaegar demanded, shaking in rage. He glared at his mother, even though he knew there was little time and chance that a single patronus would have been able to find all of them at the same time.

He felt a pit open up at the bottom of his stomach.

The very thought made him sick with dread. With horror. With pure fear and terror.

Athelinda. No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

Not her. Never her. Never unconquerable, resourceful, cunning Athelinda. Never. Not her. The black pit opened ip wider and deeper. Not her. Never her. Not his sister.

His precious, beloved sister.

Leaving behind a lifetime full of regrets and memories, and wasted life.

Why? Why did he do it? What was wrong with him? What did he say?

Why did he have to say those things? She was his sister. And now she might be lost.

He didn't know what to do.

* * *

Athelinda opened her eyes. Daylight filtered through the curtains. She remembered where she was.

She sat up. Tom was no where to be seen. She smiled, warmth and affection colouring her. She readied herself to get out of bed, before something floated in front of her. It was a lap-tray with breakfast, toast, a rasher of bacon, marmalade and butter, poached eggs and a pot of tea with teacup and saucer. She laughed softly, shaking her head.

She ate, then went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. There were toiletries for her. She wondered if Tom had been planning this for quite some time. This place was strangely well-equipped to suit her needs.

She showered and dressed. She went downstairs to find Tom reading a newspaper.

He smiled when she walked in and she responded in turn.

"What's the news?" She asked as he placed the paper in front of her.

The _Daily Prophet_ was trying her. It reported nothing of interest.

"Don't worry," Tom said. "They'd never take London- which means they'll never take the country."

"How can you be sure?" She asked sceptically.

"Because," he replied. "Albus Dumbledore is there."

She looked up sharply. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Didn't anybody ever tell you?" Tom asked quietly. "Dumbledore and Grindelwald used to be friends." She stared at him. "That was a very long time ago. And I do not think that the Transfiguration teacher we know today was the young man who befriended Bathilda Bagshot's nephew, who coincidentally, can never be the Dark Lord we all know and fear today."

She stared. "Is this some kind of a joke?" She asked.

"No joke, I tell you," he shook his head. "They were friends. But Dumbledore was obviously betrayed. Grindelwald fled the country- something about murdering a young girl, I can never get the full details. And they haven't been in contact since."

She stood there in silence for a long while. "Why should that stop him?" She finally said.

"Because the two of them happen to be the most skilled wizards of their age," Tom said calmly. "But I believe, and with good reason and reports, that Dumbledore might be more skilled, if only slightly. Grindelwald too, I believe, knows this. He won't risk a direct attack or a confrontation with his former friend, even if it means not being able to deploy the greatest amount of his strength to invade and successfully conquer Britain. Grindelwald is too cowardly to part with the bulk of his armies. He needs them.

"But I may believe that he is occupied with something else at the moment."

"More invasion plans?" Athelinda asked. "What this time? America?"

"One can never be too certain," Tom said.

He drank his coffee in silence.

"And Hogwarts?" Athelinda asked. "Considering that Dumbledore works and protects the castle, I assume, if what you say is true, that Grindelwald would not think about attacking the place unless Dumbledore is gone and the country conquered?"

"Yes," Tom replied simply.

The snakes slithered out of their urns. She knelt down and they climbed on, coiling and twining themselves around her. Her eyes glinted, this time, dangerously as Tom bent down and also gathered some of the snakes to him.

"They will not succeed," Athelinda said icily. "They will never succeed. For once, Rhaegar's knowledge and skill may be useful. He'd better prove he had learned something, or else, there is no point in a clan, or an army's might."

"Yes," Tom said.

* * *

The two spent the next two days in peace. Athelinda cleaned the house, despite it already been cleaned. She went outside and planted a herb and vegetable garden, so that when spring came, if she was still there unable to go anywhere, they could at least have a supply of food, without being dependant on anybody.

She even re-checked, with Tom, their supply of water. He stocked up on firewood. It was Christmas Eve now. And she had no family.

She felt as if something had been torn out of her, as if a limb had been severed. She swallowed. She felt as if her heart had been torn out. She felt as if, everything was dragging her down into despair.

She would never get a chance to tell them how sorry she was. There was no chance she could go to Glasgow with everything going around, dark wizards roaming the country and the Floo Network shut down. Even portkeys were too risky. The portal would have been closed by now.

She contained the tears in her eyes. There was no chance of telling them how sorry she felt. No chance to make it right. She busied herself, gathering fallen branches from the snow-covered ground, and arranging them together with a sticking charm into a Christmas tree. Athelinda made various coloured streamers- mostly red, gold, silver and green- Christmas colours and Slytherin's- shoot out of her wand and drape themselves artistically around the dead branches. She fashioned more ornaments, using a mixture of magic and scavenged things such as metal, including a star. She enchanted the metal star, and turned it gold and glittering with clear lights. She placed it atop the tree. Athelinda smiled.

She'd gotten something for Tom before they even left. She'd wrapped it, and placed it at the foot of their pathetic tree. But it was so covered, so tastefully decorated that it actually looked pretty.

She lit the candles and even made Christmas Dinner. She even decorated the place with holly.

How she wished she could do it for her little sister. To hang the stockings up, just like they used to, to make the baubles shine.

To hear her brothers' voices once more.

Were they still alive? She choked. She believed so. She hoped so. But in truth she was not certain, and she shook to remember the last moments she spent with Rhaegar and Willamar.

How did it come to that? Athelinda thought desperately. She remembered their last Christmas before the war began. Philomena hung the stockings. Willamar and Winny discussed the merits of a fine pudding without brandy flavouring, her Rhaegar putting up the Christmas tree with their father and her mother wrapping up all their presents that they wanted to give away. She remembered her and Rhaegar tearing open wrapping paper with their little sister, their father guffawing at Willamar's joke with a glass of eggnog in hand, while Willamar animatedly described the time he placed the wrong ingredient in a potion he made with Athelinda- to disastrously hilarious results. She remembered her mother admonishing Winny for not joining in the fun and relaxing at Christmas, as she was a part of the family, and her snakes slithering out after dark, for Athelinda to secretly slip them the tastiest morsels and leftovers for their own feast.

She took a deep breath and tried to restrain the tears angry at herself.

How could she have let such a thing happen?!

How could she have ever persuaded herself to turn against the ones she loved limitlessly, who loved her the same way, no matter what?

How could she have ever wanted to hurt any of them.

She sniffed, as she angrily fastened the decorations tighter than necessary. Athelinda rose.

She needed to check the pudding for tomorrow night. Pudding that she would share with Tom.

She sniffled and wished with all her soul, heart and every fibre in her body that she would be able to see them again, even if she had to beg to make amends.

But in the meantime, Athelinda would give Tom the Christmas he never had. And someone to share it with.

She didn't want to waste anything.

* * *

"What's this?"

Tom sounded surprised when he arrived back, from his 'errand'.

She smiled. "You've never had a Christmas, have you?"

He blinked. "With family?" She pressed. "And people that really do care, no matter their own wants and needs?"

He was shocked.

Normally he wouldn't have given a bowtruckle's thought about Christmas. He scorned the silly behaviour of his housemates, was secretly enraged when they broke the school rules and slyly replied that surely he would not have turned them in during Christmas. Christmas was when the orphans sniffled and got cold, and Mrs Cole and her helpers imbibing more gin than usual while stern-looking parents dropped off parcels of mouldy, moth-eaten, ugly old sweaters or faded, half-broken toys while their snotty-nosed children screamed at the top of their lungs saying they wanted their pudding and presents, _now_!

He normally wouldn't have cared to see holly and Christmas trees anywhere. It just made a mess. Or at least that was what he thought but even he could not deny the fact that they looked charming here.

Christmas, he thought, was for fortunate, snobbish children who threw wrapping paper everywhere, while their parents guzzled punch and watched, indulgent of their offsprings' lack of decorum.

Christmas, he had thought, was about spoiling and softening the already-weak and unworthy minds that lingered around, doing nothing constructive with their time and future-plans.

Yet here...

Christmas was for family. And because of that...

Who would have thought about family?

Family was blood. He had none left.

What did he think about family? It meant nothing to him as he had never had it.

Yet Athelinda took his hand, and it looked, remarkably, that while this woman was unwilling to serve him, and he no longer sought her servitude, he still yearned for her loyalty and was marvelled that she was willing to make him happy in a way he never imagined.

She guided him to the dinner table.

"I have presents," she murmured.

"Really?" he asked.

Athelinda nodded. "Nothing remotely depressing, unlike the things you got for your Christmases in that orphanage. She wrinkled her dainty nose and grimaced in disgust. "These are real, true gifts. For _you_. And you alone."

She sounded firm about that. Yet... she had no reason to believe she had something to gain in return. Or maybe she wanted to pay something _back_ to him.

It stung him, more than he dared to admit. That this woman, should look upon her with something other than what he wanted her too... that she would do this put of _pity_ or see him in another light than that which he aimed her to seem him by.

It growled inside him. He didn't want this. He rose. He wanted something else- something involving her.

Something which would make her react differently to him. Not this.

"Athelinda," he began. "You really don't have to-"

She cut him off with a scowl.

"Don't. I don't pity you- you've fought for and earned more than enough in this world. I don't want to repay you- I'll find other ways, rather than something like this. I don't envy you, giving you something to glean a little secret, when I am independent, accomplished and skilled enough never to depend upon another- and I never will. I don't even seek something in return. I want to give. I want to make this world, but most importantly, your world, a better place, because I _choose_ to, not because I have to." She looked sternly at him.

"You have no family, nothing that you haven't fought for or earned yourself. I might have lost my family and nearly everything else. We can lament this, and turn weak and miserable. Or we can give each other something you've never had before. I lost my family- a wolf always has a pack. It's their centre of gravity to them. This is not to be underestimated- solidarity and partnership. Better than going through this alone."

Tom stared at her.

"Do not scorn this," Athelinda warned. "I know what I'm doing- and I wouldn't make myself look like a fool for nothing. Do you doubt my capabilities?" Her eyes gleamed.

Did she know everything about him? He suddenly couldn't speak. He suddenly couldn't move. He stood stunned and transfixed as her black eyes, shining brighter than dew, gazed at him.

She held out her hand.

Athelinda guided him to the table. There stood a delicious dinner, yet pleasing to the eye, something that might have been made by the Hogwarts House-Elves. She put a lot of trouble into this. He stood silently. Was she trying to fill in her empty void?

It made him uncomfortable on all accounts. the fact that she might have been doing something like this, not truly for him, but as a distraction to her pain. A pain brought on by the fact that she had others in her life, not merely him.

He was not her everything, the way that she was-

He scowled inwardly. Where was this leading to?

However he did admit he wanted himself to be her everything.

No one else.

* * *

Athelinda exchanged gifts with Tom. Overall, what a Christmas this was. Despite the loss clearly in her heart... She felt as if she were a goblet overflowing with wine.

Not empty.

She smiled lazily as she passed him his. It was a copy of Ancient Atlantean magic practices. Something which she knew he would love. Secrets and magic.

Athelinda was handed a box.

She was puzzled. It looked small. Did he give her jewellery? Surely not! Where would he have gotten the gold from? He inherited nothing.

Yet when she opened, it (she was expecting earrings of cheap make within) she found something completely unexpected.

There was an oval stone inside, a radiant gem that seemed to drink all the light inside. It was silver and clear, shining brightly and surrounded by rose-cut diamonds set in white-gold. The stone itself changed colour, transforming into something of rich emerald. The inside had something inside.

A snake, curling, moving inside.

The band itself was scaled in places, like a snake.

Athelinda didn't even realise she gasped until she released her breath. Tom watched her carefully but her expression didn't change or transform into emotion.

Did he want her to? He had never felt so unconfident in his life. He frowned. This did not feel right.

"I suppose, I should bow down to tradition, just this once," he admitted grudgingly. He smiled and knelt.

She saw him and almost choked. Her eyes were massive.

"You cannot be serious," she choked.

"Actually I am," he said quietly. "You are different, and so am I. We are welcomed and honoured, yet we are shunned outsiders. We know nearly everything, yet there is still so much to learn. You are right. Perhaps we do not have to walk paths on our own."

And this time, he had no choice but to mean everything he was saying.

Athelinda stood still. She couldn't move. Her eyes locked upon a ring on Tom's own finger. It was a black stone, cracked in the middle, set in clumsily-fashioned, lumpy gold. Where in the world he had gotten that, she did not know.

But the ring he was offering her was much prettier than that. How did he get that?

How much did he pay for it? How long did he save such amounts of money just for this one ring, for a single finger?

For her?

She looked at him.

She didn't know what to say. But she was not speechless, helplessly emotional and incapacitated simpering thing.

She took a deep breath. Tom moved to sit down once more beside her.

Their eyes met, black upon black.

Two of a kind.

And what really shocked her was the depth of emotion in his eyes- serene, professional, calculating and masterful Tom Riddle, always in control, always scorning weakness, showing this part of him that he would never dream of showing anyone else.

He leaned forwards and kissed her, passionately, possessively, yet he allowed her to take some form of control, so independence. Something which fuelled the fire within her. And ignited a fire within him, he never dreamed could exist.

He could suddenly taste a few of their treats for dinner- something spicy and hot, yet she felt rich and soft, soft as velvet and soothing, enticing like chocolate. It was soft, so soft, warm, and spicy. So hot.

"Will you marry me?" He asked once they pulled away, regretfully.

She looked at him for a long moment, as if thinking, studying.

"Yes, I will," she responded calmly and smoothly sealing her fate and forging her destiny.


	11. Chapter 11

"_**Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten."**_

_**David Ogden Stiers**_

_**Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like the splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material."**_

_**F. Scott Fitzgerald**_

* * *

"Where the devil is she?" Rhaegar snarled.

He was in a terrifying mood. His brother looked nervous.

"Rhaegar-" he began, but thought better of it at the sight of his brother's face.

"You were supposed to go with her," his mother said, tone rising. She was no happier.

"You were supposed to meet at the Glasgow portal, together!"

"We had no choice!" Willamar shouted. "You said you sent a patronus to Athelinda, and ordered us not to wait, but get to Glasgow immediately. I went and took Philomena, and I apparated. You assured me she would be there by the time we arrived, and knowing her, I believed she would. But then they started closing the portal. We couldn't afford to wait- we had nowhere else to go."

Katerina closed her eyes and the shadows under her eyes darkened on her pale face as she sank onto a chair in their home in the Acropolis of Kateris- the unplottable Volsunga city.

"This is my fault," she whispered, her face being drained of its colour more. She was ashen. "I should have planned it better. I panicked." A shuddering sigh slipped from her and a tear slid down her hollow cheek through her eyelid.

Philomena stared wide-eyed and white as the others. Tears streamed on her cheeks and the child was shaking.

Rhaegar touched his mother's shoulder. "I need to get back to Britain." His mother looked at him incredulously. He looked firm.

_I should have never exchanged such harsh words with her. Our last meeting was hateful. It would be a bitter farewell if-_

If what? He didn't dare think about the possibilities. He didn't want to. He couldn't.

_Why?! Why did I have to be so hateful and to say such things?!_

Rhaegar strode away. His father wasn't there and he was grateful. This might be the worst Christmas they ever had.

He marched away.

Rhaegar had served in covert missions, and was a top soldier, despite his youth and lack of experience counted in years. He had taken down more enemies than he could count- not that that made him feel any better.

He was a butcher. But at least he could save others. Including his family.

He packed the necessary equipment and took polyjuice potion. He was going to need it.

* * *

Athelinda smiled when she woke up.

Nothing happened that night, but Tom was smiling right beside her in bed. They smiled and she saw something she never saw before, something which no one else saw before. His smile was unfeigned, more than polite, unnecessary as there was no one else and nothing that needed to be done, yet filled with so much undisturbed light and contagious joy that it lit him up everywhere. He was not feigning this. That was what struck her.

"Shall we get up?" She asked.

He shook his head immediately. "No."

They smiled at each other. Athelinda tried to get up, but he pulled her down beside him. "Please don't." He said. "I don't want you to-" he didn't even know what he was saying until he said it, but Athelinda shook her head.

I'll stay for a few more minutes," she said. "Then we have to make breakfast. And I never really had time to explore this place of ours."

He grinned. Normally he would have loathed the thought of sharing, or giving something away, but now…

She was different. He didn't fully understand, but he sensed it. It may not be a hindrance as he once thought, he mused. In fact, it might be something helpful.

Later Athelinda got rid of the pitiful, but funny and pretty Christmas tree. She took down all the decorations. She cleaned up, and made breakfast.

She looked around.

It was a lovely place. Outside there was sea, sea and fresh air, a beach of snow-encrusted- yellow-beige-white sand. The tide had calmed that day, the sun was shining, and there did not appear to be a single cloud in sight, odd for a winter's day.

But so symbolic and exuberant and joyful.

But she knew, despite her joy, of the troubles that lay ahead. She would have to keep this a secret from her family- especially Rhaegar. After what happened she wasn't willing to attempt even the smallest argument with him, but knew that Rhaegar would blow his head off faster than if Fwoopers had affected him.

It might sound funny, but she would rather have the manticores, chimeras, or even dragons after her, rather than Rhaegar.

She had to keep it a secret. And she held onto the ring, before plucking it off. Grasping her wand, she twirled it conjuring a leather string which she caught and strung the ring through. She wasn't supposed to use magic outside of school, but the trace was blind- or stupid. When surrounded by even one adult witch or wizard, it could not sense the magic. And she doubted the ministry would react or get upset anyway, with the current crisis going on. If it still stood. She tied the string around her neck, and cast another spell, to keep it hidden. A Disillusionment Charm would wear off.

She sighed and looked around.

It was a lovely place, despite being basic. The plank floor was sturdy and polished, not at all crude. The windows were large, especially the one in the kitchen. The kitchen bench, the small table with two chairs, a single sofa and an old armchair, coffee table, a cabinet for mugs, teacups and pots, plates bowls and saucers as well as eating utensils. The pantry was not full but not empty either. Upstairs was a wardrobe for clothes and bed linens. If she was going to live there once the school for her was finished, they would have to get something else- maybe a chest of drawers. But there was a good bathroom with a shower-bath, toilet and sink. It was clean and the tiles were in good condition. So were the shower curtains. Even the mirror and towels looked clean and in surprisingly good condition.

But perhaps they would need more rooms, if they were to have a future together, and children would come…

Listen to her, she thought, shaking her head. She never wanted an early marriage to begin with, even though they were at war and therefore more at risk of ending their lives before they even properly began. But this was Tom, and he was not a hindrance to her future, unlike many others. Furthermore they would be training and raising young witches and wizards to be truly great. The next generation. Destined for great things, she could feel it.

But she also smiled, when she pictured her dark-haired children playing by the sea, splashing in the waves and gathering sea-shells, building sand-castles and snow-men on Christmas. A boy and a girl, with their black hair and eyes, and pale skin.

_Their_ children. _Their _baby, destined for great things. She just knew it. And she would make sure of it. She would accept nothing less. She never would. Her ambitions, her glorious dreams-_ their_ glorious dreams and goals- would not fail.

And now their futures- their children would be a part of it. They would be a great line, a great future for a great family.

Even if she had to hunt down Grindelwald himself to fulfil it.

* * *

Rhaegar had made countless kills, earned himself a legend of his own to claim, amongst the military ranks. And soon they would push back Grindelwald's forces.

But Rhaegar had been called to duty before her could sneak back into Britain. The Volsunga- concealing the better part of their strength (at last they listened to him)- had decided to put into place something which Grindelwald arrogantly never expected.

An elastic band theory- just as he did.

And he would be placed in charge.

He tried not to scream and shout and yell and throw things. Athelinda, would have to wait.

He only prayed she would survive, and hold on long enough for him to come.

"I have found a place in Borgin and Burkes," Tom said grudgingly. He tried not to flush, knowing this was a pure-blood aristocratic girl, Atlantean even, and having to admit this to her, of all people who meant so much more to him than anyone, shamed him.

But Athelinda nodded matter-of-factly. "So," she said. "You've found a place. And I just have to get through one more year of school before I can marry you. We'll live here, won't we?"

Tom flushed.

"I don't-"

"Don't worry. This is a good place, and it's certainly proved itself a special place." Her face softened. Tom felt happier when she did that. "But we won't stay here forever, of course. Only when the time comes and our names have risen enough will we be able to find someplace else. And some other positions, of course. We will start at the dirt, humiliating as it may sound, but at least we can claim it through the sweat on our brows and the strength of our magic and minds- not the accomplishments of our worthier ancestors," she smirked. "And soon we shall shine like the stars high in the sky. This is merely a port to stop over- a stepping stone."

He relaxed. She agreed with him. They were of one mind- they were two of a kind. She wasn't a fool.

She drank her coffee. "Eat your toast, love. We have a lot of work to do."

* * *

The news came soon enough which shocked everyone- especially Grindelwald's forces.

They Volsung forces had won a significant victory.

Grindelwald's armies had been pushed back. After a spectacular attack by first, land, then quickly before anyone could get the news, sea, then an attack on their air-fleet, Grindelwald's forces lay almost ruined. They weren't defeated fully, but they had suffered a terrible blow, and everyone could see they weren't invincible. Their allies received the worst blows- they were all but destroyed soon enough, after they were first frustrated, their food supplies ransacked, and their weapons and able-bodied fighters lying wasting of some disease, though some whispered poison.

Some camps even went up in flames and were subject to guerrilla attacks.

Then more unexpected attacks came from different directions, they were frustrated and exhausted, and trying to catch these attackers was attempting to grasp a ghost.

These were the allies of the clan and few knew it. Mostly, everyone celebrated. The clan turned its attention onto decimating Grindelwald.

But one problem remained. The Dark Lord himself. Gellert Grindelwald for some reason, hardly ever engaged in a direct confrontation. But when he did, the results were devastating. Athelinda read these reports in the _Daily Prophet _and the reports and rumours of dark magic, were not only increasing, but appearing to grow infinitely more powerful. The results of one spell from Grindelwald's wand, one survivor and eyewitness claimed, could destroy an entire city- and not a small one.

The few pictures that accompanied this seemed to confirm what was said. Athelinda read this with a growing terror and an icy fear for her own brother and father. Would she ever see them again?

She knew that the Glasgow portal that went straight to Kataris would be closed until the conflict was over. She had no idea how her siblings would return to school. As for her and Tom it would be a struggle, especially as this was Tom's NEWT examinations year.

She shared all this with Tom who looked concerned. But he had found a way, he told her. And hopefully, the conflict would not last too long in their country.

But Athelinda kept reading the reports. The battles were growing increasingly violent. The spells were even more powerful than anticipated. Blood-baths were everywhere.

The numbers of dead counted as millions- more than fifty-million died in Grindelwald's Global Wizarding War and the Second World War of the Muggles. The statistics were often confused with each other- it was hard to keep track anyway of the civilian and military casualties, let alone those captured and tortured or missing.

But they were gaining ground.

The _Prophet_ reported a source quoting that it was as if the Volsung clan had been given a fresh boost of power. They spread rumours- unconfirmed, sadly, and unnamed of anyone involved- that there might have been someone recently arrived into the inner military circles who was planning and leading everyone.

The rumours might have not confirmed anything, but Athelinda's eyes widened when she read this part of the paper.

She knew this style of planning, she could see his fingerprints, his spellwork and handwriting everywhere in this. The fresh boost of energy, the new way of thinking which challenged the older soldiers. She knew who this was. And he was alive, and her heart wept with joy.

Anyone who knew could guess.

* * *

But Grindelwald, frustrated and furious and his most ardent followers, would not accept defeat. They killed off those who disappointed them- those apart from their enemies, whom they held responsible for the losses on the battlefield and in their ranks.

Of course not all of their followers were fighter, some were simple ordinary wizards and witches who were raised with such prejudiced beliefs and knew nothing else.

They lived their day-to-day lives- including those who were secretly toasting Grindelwald in Britain.

Ideas can spread quicker than anyone thinks and this one of wizard domination had spread like_ fiendfyre_.

But now, they were realising that defeat was imminent- although they had one surge of hope.

Grindelwald, took matters into his own hands.

Before anyone, even the clan knew it, several cities were attacked and countless innocent lives lost, because the most dangerous Dark Lord so far, had arrived to take a personal hand in things.

Nothing lasts, after all.

Grindelwald turned his hateful eyes north.

* * *

The New Year's Eve was Tom's birthday, but before they could celebrate, Tom took Athelinda somewhere.

The two were disguised, and to her amazement, the Wool's Orphanage where Tom had grown up, was still standing.

She could hear the sounds of orphans crying within.

She turned away. Even the place, uniform, austere, blocky and unwelcoming, was enough to put awful things to mind. She doubted they tortured the orphans, but she also doubted that any of the carers actually loved the poor children and gave them the love and care they needed to flourish in their growth.

"This place," Tom hissed. "I hate this place. I don't ever want to remember it."

They apparated, Athelinda clutching Tom's arm.

Suddenly she found herself in a graveyard, when the ground appeared beneath her feet.

It was dark and eerie, ominous-looking, but somehow, paradoxically peaceful at the same time.

And there were lamplights somewhere. Tom lit his wand.

It was definitely a Muggle one. Tombstones made of marble, limestone or granite, bearing names which were unrecognizable to a witch. Unrecognizable save for three.

Tom Riddle was the name she saw first. Her heart leapt to her throat and a flood of ice fell upon her until she remembered that Tom was also the name of his father. Thomas Riddle and Mary Riddle were two more names.

"My grandparents," Tom told her softly. He held his wand close to their gravestones.

The earth looked fresh.

"I came looking for them," he said quietly. "I traced my mother's identity back to this village. As it turns out, she had a brother remaining. When I learned what happened I realised…They're gone, but they were never worth it. My father left my mother when she told him she was a witch. He came back here. My mother had been cast out of her family home when she chose to marry a Muggle. My uncle Morfin killed my father and grandparents only last year, when he couldn't take the misery and shame any longer. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban. My maternal grandparents are long-dead."

Athelinda looked shocked. Not only did Tom lose every member of his family, but their callousness, their cold self-absorbed nature in regards to their own flesh and blood- on either side- was too horrible to contemplate.

Who did Tom have apart from her and himself?

Subconsciously, she reached out a hand to touch the gravestone. Tom caught it before she managed to touch the marble.

"Don't." He glared at the stone in loathing as if it were about to commit something else to damage him.

"Tom?" She asked.

"Let's go," he said and he straightened, and after a while staring that the stones, she did as well. She held onto his arm, taking one last look at the tombstones.

They vanished in the night.

Winter melted and all of a sudden, Athelinda managed to make contact with her family.

The invaders left Britain and her family returned, screaming her name in the intact manor and desperately searching for her.

After a long while, they managed to get to London. Everyone looking at Rhaegar's uniform- black emblazoned with the Volsunga crest in silver- were in awe. The medallions also said something, though Rhaegar left most of them behind.

He earned too much. As mentioned, he no longer knew how many he had killed.

They went to London to find Athelinda- perhaps she made it to Diagon Alley? But the Leaky Cauldron's manager did not see a sign of the girl.

However there were others that did.

Some shopkeepers and other residents saw a girl, whose description matched Athelinda's, duelling with the invaders. Rhaegar also heard that a few saw a boy of similar age, if not slightly older, appear out of nowhere and blast some attackers who were aiming for her. After a short discussion, the two of them disapparated.

Who was this boy?

Tom Riddle. He knew it even before they gave the description.

* * *

Willamar made contact with Athelinda, and the two of them, Athelinda especially, sobbing and begging for the others' forgiveness and saying they were right, embraced tearfully.

Athelinda grabbed little Philomena, who squealed, as well as finding herself crying on her sister's shoulder. Her mother burst into sobs and pulled the girl with a vice-like grip to her.

Rhaegar stood still. His father had been injured a few weeks before and was currently in a coma. So he blissfully was unaware that his elder daughter was missing.

But Athelinda and Rhaegar held each other, repeating the same things she and Willamar had said.

They held each other, their faces wet with tears, even Rhaegar's. Tears of remorse.

They stayed like that for a long time, whispering apologies.

They didn't know how long they stayed, but when they pulled away, Athelinda wiped tears from her eyes. How unlike her this was, the proud, haughty girl, even in recent months she would not show any sign of weakness.

But something else had changed.

"I was so afraid," Rhaegar admitted quietly. "I'm so sorry, for what I said."

His sister gave a sniffle. "But you were right. Look what I sounded like."

"That was no reason for me to act that way," he whispered, wiping away the last of her tears. "I wish... to take it all away."

She shook her head and looked to the ground. She could not meet his eyes.

"Athelinda?" He asked. "What's happened?"

But before anyone could say anything further, their mother reappeared.

The season changed and soon spring came earlier than expected. But even though the skies cleared and some grass emerged, and a few flowers, and the snow appeared to melt with the air, becoming warmer, something was off, and this was soon proven when the temperatures rose and the skies occluded with clouds once again.

The snow thickened and the buds wilted and died. It was a false spring, something that put people on edge because, well, it was a bad omen to many, even Muggles in the old days.

Winter still existed. And even though Rhaegar was the last person anyone would call superstitious, even he felt the uneasy feeling of trepidation upon him as he beheld the greying clouds and the blizzards returning - although that was nowhere near as powerful as the winds of midwinter.

Spring- the real spring- came late and appeared to be in short. Even though experts all agreed that no magic had been used to affect the weather- thus discounting Grindelwald's involvement with the weather, Rhaegar still felt uneasy.

The false spring appeared to signal something- something not good at all.

What? Betrayal? Deception? A surprise attack? Something worse?

He could not shake off the feeling.

* * *

The Christmas Holidays had long ended and the children were all at school.

The NEWT examinations were in full swing, and Tom looked like he was about to achieve well. So did Willamar.

But Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen.

His absence made Willamar wildly uneasy and anxious. Rhaegar might be away now, but Tom Riddle remained. And he was still Head Boy. They would have to wait until the school year was over in July.

No one knew what the boy was planning next.

Willamar chided himself. That boy save his sister's life. He should be grateful, not mistrustful.

But he couldn't shake the feeling off any more than Rhaegar.

Athelinda's attitude had certainly improved. She was much more pleasant to be around.

So why did he feel like something even worse was about to happen?

It was mid-spring when they received the news.

The shocking disbelief echoed all around.

Their Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore had challenged Grindelwald.

Dumbledore.

The prefects heard everything. Willamar having been re-assigned to the role, as was Athelinda went all quiet. Apparently Armando Dippet had railed at Dumbledore's 'foolhardiness' and 'recklessness' despite the fact that in no way, had Dumbledore ever been known for such things.

Horace Slughorn could not imagine Albus doing such an insane thing- so insane that no military general had dared to do it.

Herbert Beery shuddered and looked like he was about to faint dramatically just thinking about it. Silvanus Kettleburn wondered about Dumbledore's plan.

Galatea Merrythought on the other hand applauded Dumbledore, until Dippet snapped at her to keep her mouth shut. Did she want the students to get ideas? It was bad enough that Hagrid brought an _acromantula _into the castle itself.

* * *

In the meantime, the students were told to keep quiet and carry on with their work.

No discussions of the subject were tolerated outright.

But they soon received the most amazing surprise of their lives.

Tom was in the Great Hall with Willamar not too far away when they heard the noises.

The examiner scowled and strode the length of the Great Hall to silence the commotion (why they didn't put muffling charms around the place was unknown) but it was soon determined the reason for everybody celebrating was that Gellert Grindelwald had lost.

The Global Wizarding War was over.

Grindelwald had been defeated.

And it was Dumbledore who duelled with and disarmed him.

Their Transfiguration teacher.

The celebrations were enormous. Dippet previously having doubts, now claimed that he knew all along that Dumbledore would do it. ("If anyone could do it, it was Dumbledore! Of course I knew!") The staff halted the examinations (which in the case of the NEWTS, were finished anyway). And everyone danced around the great hall, drinking butterbeer and pumpkin juice, their hands up in the air, while music rang loudly, fireworks exploded outside, well-seen from the towers, and confetti rained down everywhere. The House-Elves cooked the biggest Victory Feast and Dippet made a speech about unity and Dumbledore which made Alphard Black and a few others secretly yawn.

It was over.

And at last, Willamar felt as if he could almost weep, for at long last it was over. At long last they could rebuild. At long last they could go home. At long last they could be a family, without fear of destruction once more.

How heartbreakingly wrong he was.

* * *

Nothing lasts forever after all.

And soon Tom left Hogwarts, but Willamar's joy and relief- still exuberant from their father's and brother's survival and the end of the war- was short-lived when Athelinda broke the news to her brothers that she intended to marry Tom Riddle.

She had focused her energies on the NEWTS, after which she had sought Willamar out.

Shell-shocked, horrified and enraged, Willamar contacted Rhaegar who arrived by floo-powder. He took them both back to the manor.

"What." Rhaegar said thunderously, apart from which he was silent. "Did. You. _Say?_"

Athelinda swallowed. She held out the ring, now unhidden and on her finger.

Rhaegar gave a roar, worthy of a dragon. _"You did what?!"_

"I-" she shook her head and stood bravely. "I love him. He save my life. He took me in, when I would have died alone in the streets. I-" Suddenly something dawned on her and all her fear vanished.

"He was there!" She spat. And it appeared that the Athelinda everyone thought had disappeared had returned at last. The side of her they never wanted to see again.

"You were comfortable in Kataris, fleeing and leaving me behind before I could get anywhere near that portal in Glasgow! I tore through the streets, unable to apparate, escaping the explosions, whilst you safely apparated with Philomena to Glasgow and portalled out to Kataris! And then what? You left be there! With no one else but Tom Riddle, who had no reason to support and care for me, who asked nothing of me, except to stay and I accepted! Of course I accepted, there was no one else to love or care for when all the rest have abandoned me!" She screamed.

"You left me! You fled and marched away, whilst I remained behind afraid and unknowing whether or not you were alive or whether or not Britain would remain uninvaded! I was filled and sick with fear, anxiety and dread. Wondering whether or not we would be lost! Whether or not you'll come back, regretting everything I said- _on my own_!" The last part she screamed rather loudly. "And you dare dismiss what he has done? Even if I mean so little to you?" She shrieked.

Her eyes held tears even though she tried to hold them back. Rhaegar was anguished. He loved her. He never wanted to abandon her. Even with the call of duty, his first instinct had been to rush back to England and find her.

Willamar was flushed and tears streamed down his face.

His voice shook. "Linda," he whispered pleadingly, breaking his heart within (as if it hadn't been broken enough. But Athelinda was done paying any regard to him.

She shook her head. "I can't pretend. You've chosen your path and I've chosen mine."

"Athelinda," Rhaegar grabbed her arm. "Tom Riddle… there's something not right about him. He treats his friends like they're more of his followers- and they're a collection of weaklings and cowards, thugs and bullies, and sly self-serving people who gravitate around him."

"Because there is no one else," Athelinda snarled trying to pull her arm out of his hand. Rhaegar shook his head.

"Didn't you find it suspicious, or even remotely odd, when the school announced that it might be closing, then very shortly after, Tom Riddle appeared having 'solved' the crisis? And every attack ceased? Hagrid was not the brightest student that ever walked in Hogwarts. Amazingly talented in Care of Magical Creatures, but the Founders of Hogwarts were not stupid. I said this to Dippet, and I must say, that if there was a monster kept within the castle, no student would have accidentally set it free. They were four of the most brilliant and powerful mages of all time. They _trained_ Merlin! The greatest sorcerer in history! And if it wasn't a monster, but a true culprit, Hagrid could not have been the one. He isn't magically skilled or that knowledgeable about such things. He was just thirteen! And as I said, not the brightest candle on the table!"

Athelinda stood still and silent for a long time.

"What are you saying exactly?" She asked suddenly quiet. She stared at him. "That _Tom Riddle_ opened the Chamber of Secrets? That he attacked and killed Muggle-borns?"

"Maybe it sounds insane," Rhaegar said quietly. "As insane as our Transfiguration teacher defeating the most powerful Dark Lord ever recorded. But certainly he's a more gifted student than Hagrid, don't you think? And I wonder that no one ever questioned how he discovered and came to the conclusion that Hagrid was keeping an acromantula. How he believed Hagrid was the culprit and all of a sudden, every attack ceased."

Athelinda looked at him incredulously. "He's a half-blood!"

"That's a filmy excuse not to even ask the mildest, unsuspicious question," Rhaegar barked. "They always employed favouritism on him- even to the point where they turn blind to his behaviour towards others!"

"Like you?" She hissed, her eyes dangerously bright. "Like you, golden boy Rhaegar, now a glorified war hero who soared through ranks faster than pixies or snidgets could fly. Head Boy before that, prefect before that, and top student in Hogwarts and Quidditch champion, or whatever else you are- I forgot. You don't think I knew you never liked him? From the very beginning? Before you were even prefect?"

He was shocked into silence.

"You never could stand it," she screamed. "You never could stand that there was someone else who could upstage your glory, even two people who could work together to do such a thing! You never wanted it, always felt threatened! And you don't really want us to upstage and obscure your glory!"

"Athelinda!" Rhaegar was too stunned to comprehend what had happened.

"Don't," she hissed. "Let go of me, Rhaegar. You've had your turn. You're walking your own path. Your glory you've already achieved. Now you're adding to your list of medals. But this is far more important to me. To you, it's adding to a collection of rewards. To me, this is everything."

She turned and marched out of the room.

"Athelinda!" Rhaegar shouted, desperately.

"Athelinda?" Willamar gasped in fear.

"Athelinda!" Her mother called, fear in her voice, terror even. She had been listening in this whole time and watching in shock what occurred.

"Athelinda!" Her father barked. He shouted pleadingly as she walked out the door. "Athelinda!"

But she was gone.

* * *

Athelinda stood quietly in the registry office. School was over.

She was of age.

And beside her, Tom Riddle stood, hand in hand, as the quill with permanent ink rose and floated itself onto his hand. This had to be done in his own hand- not by magic.

He signed his name.

He took his wand and muttered an incantation and something illuminated the parchment and the name was in gold. A seal stood next to it, bearing his initials.

Athelinda's turn arrived. The quill floated to her hand as Tom smiled warmly at her. His eyes glinting with some strange, unknown emotion.

For an instance, she felt something hit her. Something like fear and apprehension.

Something like worry, fear and regret. Something that turned her mind to her brothers, her sister, her mother and her father, the House-Elf and the manor she had left behind. Something very much like regret. Something very much like fear and apprehension. Something that wished she was still back there, or at least, they were here.

But she angrily pushed them back and forced herself to go on and forget, to forget in anger and erase all the images as she signed her name with her own hand, and took her wand and pressed its tip to the parchment, muttering the incantation while the name glowed and Tom's wand joined hers, and together they cast a spell that joined their names, their initials and ultimately, their lives and fates together. The wands glowed golden in unison, the light illuminating the whole room as a shower of sparks fell upon them. Their hands were entwined as the ministry employee smiled and pronounced them joined in marriage by the Magical Law of Britain.

Athelinda stood, dressed in white French lace, diamond pieces and seed pearls stitched onto ivory-white silk in floral patterns, like the buds and blooms that sprung so briefly during the false spring with a rich border of flowered patterns and the snakes that she loved with emerald sequinned eyes curling amongst them. Her veil was lace and in a similar delicate pattern, trimmed in silver lamé with a crown of Narcissus and Petunia flowers, same as on her dress, which she also carried.

His ring was on her hand. The wedding present he gave her was a heavy gold locket with a crystalline front, and a serpentine s set in polished, clear green emeralds.

Tom wore a black suit, simply-cut and not too flamboyant. His hair was growing longer and his cheeks were hollowing, yet it suited him.

Tom smiled and the minister smiled happily at them, and Athelinda smiled as well mechanically. She tried to push things aside.

This was her choice. This was her future. This was everything she had dreamed out laid in front. Her family would understand someday.

She did her best to ignore the lingering feeling within and eventually ceased to notice it.

This was her future.

The plans were set.

* * *

"Let her go," a soft voice had echoed after Athelinda left into the night.

They turned and stared. There was an ancient woman in a black cloak with an air of mystery and secrecy. Her eyes were hooded pale amber and her skin was pale and fine as paper with a hint of honey, delicate lines running everywhere accentuating the delicacy of her features.

"You daughter will return to you," the seer said. "But first the game must be set, the chess-pieces laid out and soon the game will begin. The future has taken its course."

* * *

**_Sorry for the length. Snidgets are the precursor to modern-day Quidditch Golden Snitches, tiny fast birds who could explode at the lightest touch, thus being classified as endangered. Fwoopers are birds that cause madness. In the 2014 Quidditch World Cup, New Zealand lost a controversial match to Bulgaria (and Viktor Krum), which included an unfair send-off. The manager Charlie Braverstock described himself for the send-off as being "madder than a bloke who's been locked in a box of Fwoopers." _**

**_The seer at the end has a powerful, mystical part to play in the whole plotline of the series, and we'll see more of her. Her identity is a closely-kept secret. She might even be immortal._**


	12. Chapter 12

"_**Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes."**_

_**Albus Dumbledore.**_

_May 1__st__, 1949…_

Happiness and bliss, could mean ignorance at worst. In Athelinda's case, it was.

But they were happy. Truly happy for the first years.

Right until that moment. Right until the end.

Athelinda's eyes were closed but she was awake. Borgin and Burkes… She honestly wondered how Tom was getting along, but she did not doubt him and his capabilities in the least.

She felt a stirring inside. She had been feeling physically uneasy in her belly. She hoped Tom would come home soon.

Her hand groped the nightstand next to her bed and fumbled to touch the locket, along with the ring that Tom had given her. She felt the coolness of the gold and the bumps of the stones, and relaxed immediately. At least if he was not there with her, she would have something of him. She missed him terribly, even though she did not admit to it.

It had been three years since she had last seen her family. Three years since the marriage began, and she still felt the regret and hollow emptiness and pain when she thought about her family. But she had always brushed it aside. It would end well, she told herself. Of course it would.

He always left rather early, and returned rather late. She had a job in the ministry, but again that was a stepping stone. A junior assistant in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. At least she would be able to find out what was going on overseas.

She saw some of Tom's old school friends, but rarely, they both preferred to keep their marriage a private, even secret, affair. She didn't like all of them, didn't think highly or trust them, so even though she never begrudged Tom his friendships, she never wanted to be near those sly sycophants.

_We all need sycophants in this world, _she thought to herself. _Some people are cattle and others are cow-herds who tell them where to graze._

The Knights of Walpurgis were a secretive order, so Tom Riddle kept them quiet. His wife, thankfully did not know, or even appear to want to know what he was doing.

They were a select group and none of them were aware of the connection of their leader with the pale black-haired, black-eyed woman most had seen in school.

But they met underground when Tom was supposedly at work, or when she was asleep.

Athelinda was a confidante, but to that which Tom would never, ever in a billion years, tell the Knights. Tom's vulnerabilities, his frustrations with everything and everyone from the Ministry to Mr. Burkes was told to Athelinda who kept her mouth shut, listened, soothed him and offered excellent advice in dealing with them.

Best of all was her encouragement. It was not empty phrases, such as _"You can do it, you're the best!"_ no. It was strength and courage that she imbued to him. She made it sound reasonable without sounding sycophantic. She was no flatterer.

Tom talked to her- told her of his joys and triumphs, his frustrations and set-backs. But he always altered them- he did not tell her everything, any more than he told the Knights of Walpurgis about her.

She did not know about them either.

But Athelinda relaxed and usually didn't care a whit. She minded her own business, she didn't give a damn who her husband spoke to and befriended.

That was what made certain she never glanced long at him prior to the surprise visit to the Shrieking Shack. However things changed, and so did Athelinda.

How long was it, since she saw her parents, siblings and house-elf?

The pain always struck her then. Sharp, lingering and spreading throughout her. And always she banished it- forgot it by thinking about something else.

Where was Tom?

The pain turned to frustration and irritation. Eyes snapping open, Athelinda's black eyes flashed with annoyance, before rising and pulling the locket over her head.

Her fingers brushed over it, and her gaze lingered as she held it. There was nothing left- no family, nothing. No semblance of her old life. No loved ones apart from her husband. And…

Athelinda roused herself. Where _was _her husband?

Rising, she held her irritation at bay by wrapping her dressing gown around her figure and decided to look for her husband.

If she had dwelt upon it, she would have realised that the frustration and irritation came from the pain of distance and loss.

And guilt.

* * *

Marching in the small hallway- she still wasn't used to such an enclosed space, but it was not at all bad- Athelinda could not find Tom.

Scowling, she marched off to the cellar. The food was there, along with potion ingredients and books- she needed to read, to brew a potion, anything.

But as she went downstairs (the cellars were more extensive than the house itself), she heard a suspicious noise.

It sounded like there was someone in there.

Drawing her wand, her heart hammering, Athelinda readied herself. Her repertoire of spells and her training in combat was more thorough and experienced than what she would likely encounter, but she would take no chances.

But what she heard made her stop.

"-only time itself will tell," a voice sounded in the cellar. "But I believe that it will be very soon now, very soon indeed."

Athelinda froze dead. It sounded like… Avery.

But that was absurd! What was Avery doing here?

The last she saw him they were in Hogwarts. Maybe she should have paid more attention to Avery, but she knew him as part of Tom's devoted followers- like an aphid to an ant.

But no reason at all to think that he would be here. He was one of dozens and she was not aware that Tom was inviting them here.

She never cared much for him. But she surely would know if Tom…

But she never saw him at work.

She could have hit himself. She cursed herself inwardly. She never asked _him _anything!

* * *

Athelinda scowled as Tom emerged in their bedroom.

"Where in Merlin's name have you been?" She asked so frostily he paused.

"I was at work?" He answered, his handsome eyebrows raising.

Athelinda regarded him with black eyes, the same colour as his own, but so cold it was a miracle he stood his ground.

It reminded him, in a way, of her brother, the day he brought Hagrid to the Headmaster's Office.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" She asked so dangerously quiet. He was impressed. Amused and impressed. A strange combination, but not unwelcome.

"I did tell you I was eating before I get home," Tom said sounding amused. He took off his wristwatch and placed it on his nightstand.

Athelinda boiled silently.

"I don't believe that. Or at least, I bet you must have had a lovely meal with Avery."

Tom froze.

He turned. His wife was glaring at him.

"What were you doing with him?" She asked. "Are you jealous?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

She sneered mockingly. "When Merlin returns to teach chimeras to dance ballet."

He smiled. "Love," he said standing and holding his arms open.

"Don't _my love _me." She hissed. Her blood was boiling.

She went over to lie down on the bed. On the way she passed a massive earthenware urn filled with hot water and sealed tightly but magically allowed oxygen inside. Inside it, was an egg. Surasa's egg, which she had given Tom as a wedding gift.

It was still incubating.

She glared at him as she lay down. Her black eyes refused to look at him, as he took off his jacket and laid down next to her, drawing and arm to pull them closer and kissing her.

"My love," he whispered in her ear. He continued to kiss her at the cheek, close to her mouth and down the line of her throat. Athelinda might have felt a stirring but happily, she ignored it. Nearby Surasa observed pretending to be asleep. She was used to it, or rather to him doing this thing he so typically did, but not her current actions.

His hand drifted to the hem of her nightgown and between her legs, but she turned and gave him such a glare it startled him. And disappointed him.

"Love," he groaned. "Athelinda."

"Don't." She hissed, eyes wide and bright with rage. "Treat. Me. Like. A. Fool." She sent him a scorching glare this time.

Severely disappointed, any hopes he had deflated, Tom Riddle lay back down on the bed.

"_You take me for a fool, don't you?"_ Athelinda hissed in parseltongue.

Tom's eyes snapped open. "I never said that."

"You lied to me." Athelinda turned and glared at him. "And worst, you treat me as an incompetent, clueless idiot, who shouldn't be wasting her time with anything deep. Need I remind you what I am capable of? Or do you need to go back to school to find out?" She sent a withering gaze.

"I was given gifts and powers of knowledge that you can scarcely believe when I was born." She hissed. "The Naga that nursed me with her venom instead of milk ensured that. I was given gifts and powers that you can never hold or understand."

He raised his eyebrows, curbing the urge to laugh. "Gifts?" He asked, trying to hide his amusement. "Powers? Like…" But he didn't get to finish, as his wife sent him yet another glare.

She snarled and lay back down on her pillows.

"Are you a seer?" He asked.

She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him. "Seers are slaves to the future. They can only see and tell of what is to come. They cannot decide it." She sneered.

"And you can?" Tom looked and sounded incredulous. "The Naga venom gave you that."

Her eyes narrowed further. "You doubt me. Very well then, I shall issue what is to come. I am carrying your child."

It was as if time stopped and Tom stared at her.

She smiled, chillingly and leaned forwards. "It is a boy-child. But because you have treated me like a fool, then I shall make this happen: our newborn son shall be born with the image of the serpent in his eye."

Tom stared at Athelinda. She smiled cunningly, a blade-like smile.

"And he shall be known as one of the greatest wizards in the history of the world." Athelinda smiled wider, a smile that didn't reach her eyes, any more than his did for the Knights of Walpurgis.

"This much, will be."

* * *

If only she knew. But even as Athelinda ate more and carefully, even as she was sick in the mornings, she knew that she had done the wrong thing in deciding the child's fate like that. Even as she rested ensuring the child's health, something felt wrong. In what she did, and something about the father.

Something was not right about Tom, but she ignored it. She would not regret anything.

But was that wise?

The person that lived their entire lives without regrets, despite everyone making mistakes, is bound for disaster. What if she did do the wrong thing? What if her husband was…

Stop, she ordered herself firmly. She would not go that path. She had given up so much, to give up now.

But what if she hadn't?

That, unknowingly, would be the most haunting question of her life.

Athelinda had had enough.

Strange noises, and secret, underground, night-time meetings with his 'friends'.

It was time to put a stop to this.

She got up and wrapped and tied a dressing gown around her. Her feet slid onto slippers and she went for the cellars.

She checked everywhere about the house first. Tom wasn't there.

She went downstairs, but found something blocking her path. Her eyes narrowed.

She knew Tom's style at least. Muttering an incantation in her native Atlantean, she cast a spell so powerful, no enchantment from non-Atlantean magic could ever withstand it.

"_Homenum revelio,"_ she whispered after lighting her wand. No one.

Carefully, she stepped forwards. Her covered feet treading soundlessly, Athelinda, sister of Rhaegar one of the bravest wizards that ever lived, moved forwards.

There was a door at the end. It was, she realised, a very long cellar.

How come she never noticed that? She was bewildered. She placed her hand on the brass knob and was about to open but paused.

What was on the other side? Would she regret this? What would she find?

Either way, Athelinda made a defining choice then and there not to walk anywhere blinded, and this time, she would keep it.

She opened the knob and what she found changed her life, and _herself_ once more, forever.

It was dank and dark.

But once she lit the inside, she wished she never did.

Well, at least a part of her. The other part was glad.

There were all sorts of things there. Some were objects, she recognized a Hand of Glory, a skeleton of…. Was it a _Quintaped_? Various skeletons, as a matter of fact, and objects which, in shock, she recognized as being of dark and twisted things. There were countless dark objects, and some deceptively beautiful objects she was sure was, in fact, cursed.

There were thick leather-bound volumes, covered with dust, and she stopped and paused to stare at them. She wondered if she could pick one off the shelf. But what if, like the others, they too, were cursed? Or hexed? Or even placed with an alarming spell.

"_Hexia Revelio,"_ she whispered. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. After casting several more spells by far, more complex and advanced than that, there was still nothing.

Carefully, with shaking fingers (why was she so afraid?) she was about to take one off the shelf when she heard voices.

Athelinda froze.

Casting a spell that cunningly allowed her to eavesdrop, by amplifying the sound, only to her, Athelinda heard people talking.

Avery.

She was sure of it.

But why would Tom lie?

But then again, why would Tom keep these secrets from her?

Already, she was far too icy inside. She took a deep breath and listened.

Avery was talking.

"Perhaps we will be able to-" "I know what you suggest Avery," Tom's voice echoed and oh, it was cold. Colder and far more frightening.

"If we wait we will have merits. But if we do not, then it appears we shall lose. Snakes strike when their prey is in sight. They do not go charging into the clearing with all they have. We must wait, and we will."

"But my lord," Another voice protested. _My lord?! _Since when was Tom, _my lord_?

"What about the remnants? Grindelwald's army is being hunted down, and they will want reassurance-"

"Do you doubt me, Rookwood?" Tom asked and the voice was much colder than she thought a human voice could possibly be.

"We will have what we need, have no fear. Lord Voldemort never fails, nor does he forgive failure."

Lord Voldemort. What was that? The name of an ancient dark lord? Feeling icy-cold herself, Athelinda hastily scanned her memories of books and lessons for the name of a dark lord, or even a minor dark wizard named Voldemort, but found none.

Who- _what_\- was this Voldemort? She was so panicked, she was ice-cold.

"Soon we will defeat the ministries on their own grounds," Tom said in the same cold tone. "And the order will be restored, amidst all. The old families can have a choice- to join us, or to fall, to suffer the same fate as the mudblood scum and filth endure. And soon, with order restored, we shall have peace."

Athelinda couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. Tom was talking about 'mudbloods' and…

Treason. He talked about defeating ministries on their own grounds.

Like Grindelwald.

Her heart, her soul, every fibre in her being, turned to ice.

He was the Dark Lord. He wanted to overthrow.

He wanted blood and death. He wanted a war. He wanted Muggle-borns exterminated. He wanted to be Grindelwald.

This was not the Tom she knew.

The voice of the Tom she knew was not at all like this. Warm-

Did she know him? Warm? Was there warmth? Was there charm? Yes, but was there anything else? Was there something else?

How much did she know about him?  
What year were they first introduced? How old were they? When did she start to notice him? How did she start to notice him? How did she start to-

How did she feel towards him? Did she feel something? Did they share something apart from ambitions? What did she feel towards him? Did she like him because he was handsome (as if!), charming, intelligent? Talented, protective, ambitious?

Did they even share the same ambitions?

There was always something beneath, always something beneath his voice.

But she knew him! Surely she must! But even then, Athelinda was aware of how much a fool that sounded like.

How could she not know him, her own husband? But then, how could she have entered a union with someone she did not know?

Nearly vomiting, Athelinda struggled not to make a noise or go too quickly as she struggled up the steps.

But then she decided to take a book after all.

Not even bothering to discern the title, Athelinda flipped feverishly through the pages, searching. Searching, for what she didn't know. All she knew she had to do something! Her hands, her whole self was frantic with fear.

And then she stopped at a title with a page-marker.

The title was _Horcruxes_.

* * *

_**A Quintaped is a creature classified XXXXX, same as a dragon, Acromantula and basilisk, by the Department of the Regulation and Control over Magical Creatures, with five club-footed legs and a taste for human flesh. They are native to the Isle of Drear in Scotland, made unplottable due to the danger.**_

_**I take inspiration from Norse mythology, and even though I took to liking the show Vikings on History Channel, there are some errors. However, there is a Viking leader- semi-legendary, or even historical- named Sigurd-Snake-in-the-Eye, because his mother prophesied that he would be born with the image of the serpent in the eye, and there was a great scene there to show that. Obviously because not only that Viking family, but this family- mother and father alike, has an affinity or 'a cult of snakes' as a historian once put it, I found it irresistible. But I swear this is an entirely original character, even if he is named the same way. I don't own Norse mythology, or J.K Rowling's works, I'm afraid. This guy's a wizard and a truly terrifying one too, later on. Just not giving away **_**who _he will be terrifying to!_**

_**Yes, by this point he has made Horcruxes, well at least one, and he has given Athelinda one as well, for reasons which I will later try to explain. I don't know if you want me to redeem him, and save him, but I'm not all too sure about that. Convince me, someone like Voldemort is worth the effort, or else it's likely to be wasted. As I said, this isn't the typical Tom Riddle/OC romance. If it was so straightforward and plain romance, then nothing here would have happened!**_

_**P.S: I'm really, **_**r****eally**_** sorry for the long wait! I was working on other things, including another fanfic!**_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"_**Seek freedom and become captive of your own desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty."**_

_**Frank Herbert**_

_May 8__th__ 1949…_

Athelinda had been to sleep, or rather she pretended to. She didn't know how she managed to fall asleep, but she did. And she woke up soon enough.

Her nightmares were violent and vivid. Images of her brother Rhaegar, shaking his head, sadly, disappointed, before turning away. He had been right. Images of Willamar and her mother looking stricken, her father and Winny anguished. And Tom. Above all else, Tom. This time with him turning towards her. His image distorted with various shapes and changes in colour sporting out of him, and turning into beasts and demons- shadowy, winged terrors, demons possessing him deep within, a light coming out of him, and turning dark as pitch, and she knew it was his soul.

Athelinda felt herself in a room. All around her, she saw nothing but black.

"I did warn you," a voice said softly.

She turned sharply and would have gasped if she could. It was Rhaegar. Pain shone in his blue eyes and he shook his head. "You hated me."

_No, _Athelinda wanted to say.

"You sought freedom from my shadow. But it was not my shadow that you were captive." He looked anguished. "You sought another's. You've sold your soul. To a monster who murders others to split his soul. At least I didn't do that. You've lost your soul the minute you trapped yourself to him. I've lost my sister. The sister whom I cherished and tried to protect. You didn't want my protection. You didn't love me. You didn't care. And now you've paid. You're alone- with him."

_No! _Athelinda wanted to scream.

"Athelinda." She heard another voice say.

She turned, despite not wanting to. There was Tom, smiling in a charming way at her. He reached out for her. "Athelinda."

He reached out his arms. But now Athelinda could see the nails, like claws, curving, stretched towards her. His skin, she noticed as he got closer, was as white as bone. And she saw other things. She saw sharp teeth like fangs, and those eyes- those black eyes! No longer like hers, but red, vivid red. With slits for pupils and his mouth smiled, teeth inside like fangs, only these weren't Naga fangs.

"Remember," he whispered. "You gave yourself to me. You gave yourself, and willingly. Your brother tried to stop you. You left his side. You glorified in my shadow. Is that not what you want? To glorify yourself, by the side of the Dark Lord."

Athelinda couldn't even gasp. She couldn't breathe.

His hands reached out. They were colder than anything she ever felt before. They seemed to grip her to the bone. She couldn't even cry out in pain, or move.

"Remember," he whispered. And she looked up, terrified, to find his black hair gone, his face distorted like wax, with the nose melted inwards, slits for nostrils. But he was Tom. She knew all along he was Tom. Somehow, she couldn't have mistaken him for anything or anyone else in the whole world.

All around her, the dark swirled into a whirlpool, or a black hole in space. Sucking everything, including light, which she somehow knew were the souls of others, screaming, howling, wailing in agony. She felt her soul being sucked out too. She wanted to scream. She fought hard, to pull it back in. To keep it anchored.

"Husssshhhhhh," Tom said, trying to soothe her. "You will be….immortal."

"Your brother is gone," he whispered. "Soon they will be dead. And I shall reign as Dark Lord. Dumbledore will be nothing. Even Grindelwald will bow to me. And Hogwarts will be purged once more, through my noble servant, until all filth is cleansed and Slytherin House shall hold all in its grasp."

Athelinda tried to pull away. She tried as hard as she could.

"My soul for this," he whispered. And a white light seemed to shine out and pull itself from him, and roared. It rolled in the air, twisting, turning, agonising, ripping itself into two- and more. It was horrifying to watch.

"Remember," he whispered. "Your child…. Our child will be mine. Always."

She heard the screams and cries of a genuinely terrified baby. She even looked down and saw…. The child. Her son, curled up and Tom's hands, like pale spiders moved down, as if to grasp or ensnare her child like a predator slowly moving, before grabbing onto its thrashing prey. Her baby's screams escalated, in utter terror, pleading, no begging, more desperate for her to help than anything in the universe.

Athelinda jolted awake.

She was gasping from the dream.

Shaking, more frightened than ever, for what she had done.

Now she was wrong.

_Oh, how could she have given it all up? How could she have made the wrong choice?_ _How could she have given herself to a man who ripped his own soul apart by murder? _

And how could she have been so willingly blind and lured by such evil as one who will become a Dark Lord? He certainly had the ability. He had the motive.

He loved power. Power more than anything else in the world. More than her. More than his child.

She was still haunted by the screaming of her baby in her dream. She realised there was one things she had to do.

Getting out of bed, Athelinda checked Tom was not there. She cast spells, first wand-spells. Then Atlantean spells of powerful complex magic that not even Tom could perform. Just to check for his presence, and the presence of alarm spells and warnings about her.

She dressed. She packed whatever she needed and stowed them all in a bag, with an undetectable extension charm. Athelinda went to kitchen and had breakfast. Tom was already there.

She didn't speak to Tom. She put up a good act- convincing him, she hoped, that she was still angry at him.

But eventually Tom spoke.

"Well, my Nagini?" He murmured. "My little Naga-woman? My Nagini?" He had taken to calling her that after she reminded him of that episode. He came and tried to kiss her, but she moved away, pretending to be annoyed, when deep down, she didn't want to be touched by anyone, least of all him. The memory of those pale-spider hands reaching out to grab and ensnare her baby still haunted her. She put up her occlumency shields.

"Athelinda?" He sighed. "My Nagini, please." She didn't look at him. She couldn't look at him now, knowing what he was and did. Not without throwing up or fainting dead in ice.

"See you tonight," she said bluntly. Those were the last words she would ever say to Tom Riddle. And it was a lie. But he needn't know that.

Tom sighed. "Right, I'm off to work. Bye, love, my precious Nagini."

Athelinda wanted to vomit.

Tom left. She could hear him disapparating.

"Goodbye Tom," she whispered.

Athelinda waited for a long while. Then she stood.

The air was biting cold, but she hardly noticed it in her desperation.

She had packed enough food. She had all that she needed. Now all she needed left was to get out of there.

Wrapping her cloak around her, Athelinda pressed her hand to her belly. The warmth of her skin, indicated that she had managed to keep that part of her warm, at least. The baby stirred.

_I know, _she thought. _I swear I will make this right. I swear I will get you out of here. _

She had to. She must. She had to find Rhaegar. The only one who could save him from Tom. Whether he might take her back, she didn't know. She swallowed. Tears welled in her eyes. She hoped he would listen. If not for her, then for her baby.

She needed to save him. Her son.

She took off. She didn't have a broomstick. And it was unadvisable to Apparate during pregnancy. Could she create a portkey?

Athelinda ran. She ran as she never had before. Oh, why didn't she buy a broomstick?

There were woods, nearby. She ran through the trees. Whatever creatures she would encounter, at least they weren't _him_.

She needed to get out. She needed to get him safe.

Icy fear swept through her as she thought of Tom, and that he would rip the baby from her belly. She had no doubt that he would. All she doubted now, was his sincerity and love.

He can't be capable of that.

He was a monster.

A Monster.

A Dark Lord.

A Dark Lord who made Horcruxes to store his soul for immortality. It was unnatural. Inhuman. Unfeeling. Cruel. Cold. Calculating and murderous. Uncaring and hungry to gain power, no matter what. Even if he had to bathe in the blood of the whole world.

That was who she married. This man. The monster and Dark Lord.

Athelinda grabbed a tree, and heaved inside, retching, but managing to keep it all in. She didn't know how. She wasn't sick that morning. Maybe it came late.

Eventually she couldn't take it. All the shock, horror, the fear, the terror and exhaustion kicked in and she was retched. She gasped. The baby roiled in her belly in protest.

Numbly, she stroked it, trying to soothe it, and get heat into her belly. It would make him feel better. She should have a drink.

She reached a lake. Athelinda's legs burned. She didn't realise how long she had been running. She knelt down by the water's edge, cupped her hands and plunged it into the waters. Bringing it to her mouth she took a sip, first one, then more, slowly, one at a time, before a terrible craving took over and she plunged her hands in once more, and swallowed greedily. She could not help herself.

More. She needed more. She plunged her hands in again, and then abandoned the effort, and pulled her face down to drink. She was desperate. She wanted water. She wanted all the water in the world. She drank deeply, swallowing desperately, eagerly, thirstily.

She wasn't feeling all well. But she needed to move. She needed to get out of there.

However she had forgotten something significant.

The heavy gold locket with emeralds touched the lake waters, and in an instant, it jolted.

It sprang up and jumped out of the way of the lake, in terror, seemingly, of pure water.

Athelinda gasped as the heavy chain, suddenly flew back and yanked her away from the lake, throwing her to the ground. It jerked and twisted, twisting and pulling the chain taut around her neck. Athelinda choked and gasped as the locket with the heavy chain pulled itself away and back to the direction it came from. In terror, as if it had a mind of its own.

She choked. She had forgotten to leave it behind, in her haste to appear normal before Tom. And now she thrashed, rolling from side to side, hand tugging uselessly at the chain, as the locket swerved and dragged her painfully, slowly, the direction where she had come from.

The world blurred before her eyes. Athelinda could barely gasp. Everything seemed to fade to black. The baby! Would he die there to, because of her folly?

She drew her wand. Casting a non-verbal spell, a jet of red light landed on the chain, but it bounced back. She gave a choked moan! No! Even if she deserved this, her son would not die like this!

Her child kicked helplessly in her belly.

Summoning all her teachings and memories of Atlantean magic, she cast a spell. A spell so ancient, that Tom would not have known about it.

Suddenly the locket's chain snapped, and she gasped.

Rolling onto the ground, she felt her eyes close, and the world to disappear and go to black.

Athelinda slowly opened her eyes.

She could breathe. Instinctively, her hand went to her belly. Her child was alright.

She took several gulps of air, and suddenly was aware of another presence.

A smooth slithering of scales upon the leaf-and-twig-covered ground harkened to her senses. Something smooth and very soothing rubbed against her arm.

She felt a gentle pressure on her torso.

Surasa gazed at her with her wise golden eyes.

She nearly wept with relief.

Surasa nudged her, wanting to know if she was alright.

Athelinda weakly nodded. Surasa, being accustomed to her mistress' gestures, slowly relaxed. Athelinda sat up and looked with distaste at the locket.

And hatred. This was it. His thing. His monstrosity. His abomination.

His Horcrux.

Hate blinded her, and made the world seem red. She raised her wand, then remembered that she couldn't damage it. Even with the Atlantean spells she knew, she doubted she could damage the thing.

"_The others," _she rasped in parseltongue. Athelinda winced. Her throat still burned from the locket's attack.

"_Have they come too?"_

"_They escaped," _Surasa hissed._ "They would not stay with you gone."_

Athelinda sagged in relief, then frowned.

"_They will find you," _Surasa said. _"Not to worry. But he won't."_

Athelinda froze. Somehow, Surasa knew. Knew that Tom, was a monster.

"_But your egg,"_ she whispered. She paled. _"I left it behind."_

"_He defiled it," _Surasa hissed. _"He defiled my egg. My unborn. He damned it. Defiled it with dark magic. He cursed it. Now my child is gone, before it broke through its shell."_

Athelinda froze. But she knew not to ask any questions. Surasa nudged her foot.

"_Let's go," _she hissed. Athelinda grabbed a twig and told Surasa to slither up around her shoulders, and hold tight- but not to choke her.

"_Portus_" she whispered, pointing her wand at it. It glowed with blue light.

And they were gone.

Tom stood frozen before the sealed jar before his bed.

She was gone.

Athelinda- his Athelinda, his Nagini, was gone.

She'd left.

She left no note.

She left no trace.

She did not even say goodbye. They were both gone. Her, his wife, and his unborn child.

The egg nearby incubated still Her wedding gift.

The locket was in his hand. The piece of his soul.

She had worn it. The priceless heirloom. The symbol of Slytherin.

His soul. And now she discarded it.

There was a tapping nearby.

It came from the jar.

He unsealed the lid, using magic.

He took it out. The large egg, pearl-white, ovular. There was a tapping. He watched it. Expressionless. Numb.

A crack split the shell. A shard burst through. It fell to the floor. A tiny green head poked out, slithering and sniffing in the indistinct way snakes have.

It uncoiled inside the shell, and pulled itself out. A female, coiling in Tom's palm.

The snake looked up and regarded him with cold, calculating, intelligent eyes. So like Athelinda.

"_Nagini,"_ he hissed. _"My Nagini."_

His Naga Queen.

He clutched the locket tighter, as the snake coiled up closer to him, basking in his warmth.

* * *

**_At this point Nagini is not a Horcrux just yet- she was turned into one when Bertha Jorkins was killed. After all, didn't we wonder about the origins of Nagini? I doubt that such big snakes are found at random in the forests of Albania. The dark magic Tom must have put inside her probably explains her attachment, obedience and loyalty to him, apart from parseltongue. Of course, Tom names her Nagini- what he calls Athelinda, which is the word for a female Naga- because despite being hurt, like him being unloved in his early life, he denies it and outwardly shows extreme hate and aggression. But this is a rare glimpse of his heart and ripped soul (literally and metaphorically). However, I'm not sure if this is a reason to redeem him- this is no typical love story, and next chapter Athelinda really unravels and makes sense on whether or not what they had was love as she thought._**

**_And she meets Rhaegar next chapter. Oh boy, what's going to happen next? _**

**Edit- 26/09/2015_: Okay, so healers always advise pregnant women not to take portkeys. But hey, these were the 1940s! Back then woman smoked and drank when pregnant- they didn't know that it would likely damage the baby. Furthermore, at least she didn't apparate- that would be a million times worse!_**


	14. Chapter 14

"_**At the end of the day, a loving family should find everything forgivable."**_

_**Mark V. Olsen and Will Sheffer**_

Rhaegar heard an unusual, yet familiar sound, outside their encampment.

He frowned. It was nothing unusual, really. Just a portkey making an appearance with whoever happened to be arriving- possibly a messenger. Hopefully, he or she wasn't the bearer of bad news.

Sighing, Rhaegar threw aside the parchment he had been reading. A report. Nothing significant.

It had been three years since he entered the clan's military force and rapidly jumped ranks. He was now a commander. The youngest they had.

It was also four years since his sister left home. Although he had continuously pushed it from his mind- like his brother did to Feodora- he knew deep down he could never be rid of the fact- and the feelings- that she was his sister.

It hurt. It still hurt. But there was nothing he could do.

He forced it aside. It was something the brothers were very good at- forcing aside the impossibly, or at least terribly painful, and thinking and focusing on the present task.

If only Athelinda could learn that. Then she wouldn't have held so many grudges that built up like toxic fumes, bubbling in a tight space.

Rhaegar picked up another parchment. Another report. Unrest. Something was going on. Grindelwald was dead, but it did not mean that his ideas were as well. And there were still followers to be hunted and brought to justice. And the Ministries had once again left it as their work, since Aurors had no jurisdiction to do _anything_, outside of their home borders.

Rhaegar threw aside the parchment. False lead, he thought in disgust. Nothing. Yet the one who attacked a Muggle man, was undoubtedly a Dark Witch or Wizard. Couldn't the Auror's handle this then? If it had nothing to do with defeated but unaccepting, enemies?

Just then someone ran into the tent.

"What is it?" He asked sharply.

It was a lieutenant.

"Sir," the young man said. Despite being only a little younger than Rhaegar, he was in awe- and terrified- of him.

"They have a young woman. She arrived by portkey out of nowhere and she has a large snake!" The boy's eyes were wide. "She says she's your sister."

Rhaegar froze. All time stopped.

"What did you say?" He asked in a deadly-quiet voice which disconcerted the poor boy more than anything.

He swallowed and paled.

"Well…." He paused. "She's a very pale-skinned girl, like milk-pale, with very, very black hair, rich and deep black. Same colour eyes. And she has a…" He swallowed. "A humongous green snake."

Rhaegar shot out of the tent before he could blink.

Heart jumping around wildly in his rib-cage, the first place Rhaegar went to was the Interrogation Tent.

He burst through the flaps. Sure enough, there was a woman there, dishevelled, as if she had been drenched by the rain, and even swum in icy waters. A large snake coiled near her feet. He recognized it as Surasa.

"Athelinda," he breathed.

The others in the tent turned to him.

Athelinda stiffened and looked up. Of all the things he could have expected, he didn't expect _this_.

Gone was the haughty pride, the flash so familiar in her eyes. Her proud eyes could tell you whether she was pleased, enraged and so forth, because they always emitted a flash of light that appeared all of a sudden, and anyone could see it.

Not anymore.

They were haunted, so haunted it terrified the people that looked at her and rendered her unrecognizable to those that knew her. They were dull, void and lifeless. So empty, so hollow… he could scarcely believe she was his sister even if she had the same features and colouring.

Rhaegar felt himself so icy and unable to speak. Finally he swallowed, and asked, "What is the name of your serpent?"

Athelinda looked at him for a long while, then responded:

"Surasa. Though I have many more." She began listing all the names of the various snakes, what they looked like and so forth.

"Athelinda." The name dropped from his lips and he fell to his knees in front of her chair, numb, unable to speak.

"You're alive." He said finally, blankly, bluntly.

He stared at her.

She flinched inwardly. "Yes," she said numbly.

Her dank hair matted in clumps. Her skin was paler than normal and she was soaked to the bone. Her clothes were soaked. Her snake didn't look too happy either.

But it was her.

He reached out a hand, then hesitated. After how they parted, did he really think….

He moved to take it back, but Athelinda snatched it, and held onto it with such a ferocity it shook him to the core. This was not the sister he remembered.

But it _was _his sister.

He couldn't remember the next few moments, and neither could she, only that she was in his arms, sobbing, howling and wailing despair and hurt he could not understand. Only that he stroked her back, made soothing noises like when they were little and she was frightened or upset. While she howled and sobbed her regrets and apologies.

In the meantime, Rhaegar held her close. He didn't let her go. He couldn't let her go, so while he shushed, and stroked her hair and her back, murmuring soothing words, all the while bewildered, and desperate to find out what the hell was going on.

And grateful. He was grateful. This was not his sister that returned, any more than the girl who had turned her back and grown spiteful and malicious was his sister, but his sister had returned. She had returned.

A rush of warmth flooded through him, as she choked on her sobs, muted by his shoulder, as he held the realisation of shock, awe and joy in his mind.

His sister had returned. She was home.

* * *

The two sat there, numbly before the fire. Inside the lodge, Athelinda had told him all.

A thick woollen carpet blanketed the floor. The fire burned, and its sound of crackling flames and snapping was the only noise in the room.

Dressed in a new nightgown with a dressing gown, Athelinda had been bathed and dried, but the clothes did not hide the small swell of her belly. She was indeed pregnant.

The hot drinks stood neglected nearby. Her numb, hollow and haunted eyes were down on the carpet.

Tears had slipped for the first while, and while they still welled, the eyes were still hollow, and she did not notice her own tears.

Rhaegar was silent. Too… Well, the word 'shocked' couldn't come close to describing it. Too horrified and sick to describe, Rhaegar just stood there, his face white, staring horrified at the fire.

"More than _one_?" He whispered hoarsely, and sick.

Surasa shivered and curled closer to Athelinda's feet. It had nothing to do with the lack of heat- they were warm and comfortable in that regard- but she could sense what they were saying.

"Yes," Athelinda whispered, blood drained out of her. "Yes."

Rhaegar stood, and shakily took a breath.

He closed his eyes. "Did you by any chance find out his plans?"

Athelinda was silent. "He said they would defeat the ministries on their own grounds. I didn't stay to hear more than that."

"Did he suspect your knowing?"

Athelinda fell silent. "He didn't suspect anything. He didn't act-"

"Then how did you know you would be found out?" At Rhaegar's blazing look Athelinda fell silent. "We need this information. You've allowed your feelings to get the better of you. You could have saved so many if he was planning what he was planning- _we _could have saved so many. Why did you run? We need this information Athelinda. You do realise no one can take you simply by your own word?"

Athelinda was shocked.

"No one will believe you. He and his fellow insurgents will hunt you down if they could. Who knows what they will do to your child! And we don't have enough information, let alone _evidence _to prove that he is practicing Dark Magic and plotting treason! Do you really think that even the clans can react?" He stared at her incredulously. "What do you think anyone can do?"

She was shocked.

"You planned your escape route brilliantly. And I can never blame you for wanting to escape. But you didn't even bring a torn page from his books! What am I supposed to do, to save _anyone_, Athelinda? Even you?"

Athelinda could say nothing. Rhaegar threw his hands up in the air.

"Rest." He commanded. "I'm contacting Willamar. I can't contact Mother and Father, let alone Philomena and Winny, without letting word slip that you've arrived. I can keep everyone who saw you silent, but I can't do much else. Tomorrow, you go back home. I'll send a healer to see you, but only when you've transfigured yourself to a disguise. In the meantime, I'll have hot food and supplement potions brought to you. You could use a Pepper Up potion." He rose and smashed his fist against the wall in frustration. Then he breathed deeply.

"I'm speaking to Dumbledore," he warned. "If there's one person that can help us out of this mess, it's him."

And with that Rhaegar left the room.

* * *

Willamar arrived soon enough. His hair was wind-blown. His lips chapped from the cold, and his voice was hoarse from yelling in the wind.

"So it's you." He said silently.

Athelinda looked to the floor. Willamar followed her line of gaze and his eyes fell to her belly.

"Rhaegar did say you were expecting. When is it due?"

"Still quite a while to go," Athelinda whispered.

"I see." He seated himself before the fire. "I arrived by portkey," he explained. "I couldn't believe my ears? Is it really you? Have you come back?"

Aside from the pain, there was… something else in his voice.

Athelinda's eyes welled with tears as the pain rose so high and so agonising. "Yes," she choked. "Yes. I'm so, so sorry brother."

Willamar came to her and gathered her in an embrace.

They just held each other for a long time. Too much had been done and said to erase, but if Athelinda had to do or say an infinite number of things to make it right, she would instantly.

After a while, he pulled back. "We have to disguise you," he said. "No one can know you're back."

* * *

Rhaegar paced angrily in a side-room. The blood was rising within him.

Why was he so angry? Did he want to stop to think about them? He knew he had to, but what if it was better for him _not_ to comprehend everything.

Seven years he spent in Hogwarts. Seven years he spent, ushering children to classes, getting them out of messes, reporting damages done, helping them with their homework. Six years he spent in the Volsung military, and how many years did he spend, playing with his brother and sisters, helping them with their homework, teaching them the finer points of Quidditch, and how to properly manoeuvre around on a broomstick, going to them when they had a nightmare, or there was a thunderstorm at night, and allowing them to sleep in his bed? How many years did he spend saving his money, or making things and carefully, painstakingly wrapping them for birthdays and Christmases?

How many years did he spend, opening his arms, and embracing them tightly whenever they were upset? How many times had he told them he loved them, and swore up and down, ever since he first set eyes on them as tiny wrapped bundles that he would love and protect them forever?

And now what?

There was the fact that Athelinda was smart enough to figure out how to get out of there, and had been meticulous in her planning. But there was the fact that she couldn't even help him stop that damned Tom Riddle and save countless millions, including her child. There was the fact that they would all stand around blind, deaf and oblivious- even accepting- towards the coming storm. And if there was _one_ thing Rhaegar hated, it was to sit idle and blind waiting for evil to hit you and the ones you cared about.

Rhaegar picked up something- he didn't even register what it was- and smashed it against the wall.

"_Damn him!"_ he shouted.

He could do nothing. It was too late. And there was his sister.

What did he feel about her?

Of course he still loved her and never would stop at that.

But she had damaged their family. Their trust and the bonds that held them together? For what? For arrogance and pride, no doubt. And for all his love, care and protection towards her, what did he get? A sibling rivalry.

He scoffed inwardly. So much for love and family.

And now what? Just when all was increasing in happiness, just when they were learning to smile again, just when Rhaegar had found the greatest of joys- he had gotten married- _this_ happened. Athelinda came, bearing bad news. No, he did not blame the messenger.

But Rhaegar didn't want to be near her at the moment. He didn't think he could look at her. He didn't want to.

Athelinda had consorted blindly with a man she never even knew properly. For what? He aroused her sympathy probably, or her admiration and her ambition, more likely. Her dreams for everyone around her- and for herself. She wanted the perfect world. And Tom wanted what he thought was the perfect world, and showed her parts of that world, that she was sure to be thrilled about. And she went for it.

And she couldn't even help them. He didn't doubt her sincerity, but could he trust her? Could he even look at her?

He doubted anything would ever be the same between the two of them again.

Of course he forgave her. He always would. He loved her, and she was his sister. So, Rhaegar thought about that and took a deep breath. Exhaling, he felt better.

No matter what had happened, she was still his sister. And fool as she was, inexcusable it may be, but he could forgive her. He would not condemn her. He would not harm her, or allow her to be harmed, or even allow others to point the finger of blame on her. What Athelinda sowed she would reap, perhaps, but Rhaegar would do nothing against her. He didn't want to and he never would, nor would he allow others to do it.

He took another deep breath. His sister. He forgave her. Now he had to protect her, all of them…

And her child.

* * *

"My daughter is back," Willamar wasn't sure which parent said it, but his father had tears brimming in his eyes. His mother too was crying, tears spilling over onto her cheeks.

"And you will have a grandchild," he sighed.

His mother gasped, and his father stared at him in shock.

"She's expecting a baby." He said. "She's been through a lot, I think it would be best if I explain."

And so he did. He marvelled however, at the bond of family, even though he was a part of it.

* * *

Athelinda lay, staring up at the ceiling.

Tom.

And Rhaegar. She could not get rid of the image of Rhaegar's anger, his rage, and yet his embrace and acceptance of her.

She certainly knew, by far, she deserved a million times far worse.

Teas spilt from the corner of her eyes and down her temples, into her hair but she ignored it.

She betrayed them. She tore apart the family and threw them away as if they meant nothing to her- as if all their love…

She treated them with contempt, if not worse.

And yet, they embraced her.

She never knew what it was like to hate herself, and it was astonishing when she looked at it, how much she did now.

How much Athelinda loathed herself.

How much they suffered. And how she traded everything- all their love- away as if it was worth dragon-dung. And here she was.

She was worth less than even that.

Only now did Athelinda see her true worth- the worth of all those years of ambition, desire, glory-seeking, rage and an apparently higher calling.

Only now did she see how low she had been and was.

And about to have a child. What kind of mother would she be- to teach her son the value of family, when she knew less than a Dementor- about the ties of family and kinship? About humility, helping others and morals? Her academic achievement was worth nothing.

She was lower than filth.

Did she even love Tom then?

* * *

_**It's by far not my best chapter and I apologise. Yes, Rhaegar is married by now. He's been through a lot, and it's enough to make a story out of! Yes, she was foolish, planning an escape as quickly and carefully as that, but bringing no evidence- understandable, but evidence is needed for anything. **_

_**The baby will come in the next chapter. **_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Athelinda reflects on, and analyses her thoughts, feelings and decisions- everything unravels. Depression alert, and she makes a choice. But in this Rhaegar's wife is introduced! And the new baby!**_

* * *

"_**I had a short, and really quite catastrophic marriage, and I'm left with this baby and I've got to get this baby back to Britain, and I've got to rebuild us a life…. It was only when I came to rest that it hit me, what a complete mess I had made of my life, and that hit me quite hard."**_

_**J.K Rowling**_

"_**We never know the love of a parent till we become parents ourselves."**_

_**Henry Ward Beecher**_

_13__th__ May 1949…_

Rhaegar looked out the window.

"Are you sure he is nowhere to be found?" He asked quietly.

They shook their heads. "Completely gone, sir."

"There's nothing there." Rhaegar gritted his teeth. "Send an escort to my parents." He looked exceptionally grim. "They have a lot to talk about.

And with that, the commander strode off into the night.

_Did I love him? _

The question was one she kept repeating in her head over, and over again. She never stopped. As if that would make things better- as if _that _would make amends.

The baby stirred in her belly. She had lain there for three days and three nights. Only getting up to eat and relieve herself. Just lying there, and sleeping.

She had seen her parents and they wept, but she broke apart far too soon. She locked herself in her old room. She sealed the door shut with various spells that could only be open from within. She simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, weeping if she could, or if she had no tears, just staring without seeing the ceiling or anything about her home. Only Surasa was allowed inside.

How could she have done it? Opened her ear, and then allowed her reasoning and mind to be occluded by Tom Riddle? To be tempered and moulded in his hands like clay, to be swayed and manipulated like a puppet on strings, convinced by his honeyed words like no one before him had, to act, to think and even to _feel_ what he wanted her to feel?

And here she was, back in the family home, and the family she had so carelessly and loathsomely discarded like rubbish. The family she told herself meant nothing more to her, the brother she convinced herself she hated- even though she knew she didn't- the sister she neglected and abandoned, the brother she ignored and overlooked. Even the House-elf who had taken care of, nourished and nurtured her as a child, forgotten. Abandoned. Discarded. And apparently hated, though she never actually did.

And here she was. The most loathsome creature and the biggest failure she had ever known or heard of. The hypocrisy- the irony of it- that she would berate and be enraged by the failings of others, to fail and sink even lower than they could ever imagine. To be her.

To be his wife. His unwitting accomplice. To be the biggest fool, and the cruellest, most callous person, both. To be worth less than the dung heap. To be worth so low, and yet to have aimed so arrogantly, so presumably high in the beginning that such a thing happened in the first place. To be the vilest person and traitor to her own kin. To be her. The loathsome, person she was, worth less than dung, traitor, family-disowning, power-hungry, cruel, unloving, heartless, cold, unreasonable, most evil person, and the one who deserved life and love and everything the least of anyone or anything in the universe.

That was Athelinda. Now the veils were gone. The illusion had vanished. No dreams no stupid, arrogant, self-important and conceited person's stupid dream. Now she knew the truth. Now she knew reality- who she truly was and what she was truly worth, all along, the fruits of her labour.

Her worth.

And although Rhaegar had embraced her at first, and then sent her home, and her parents, other siblings and House-elf had embraced her with tears, Athelinda had not seen or heard of Rhaegar since then.

He was gone.

How could she be such a fool? She raged at herself, she almost killed herself in a fit of self-rage, before she remembered she had a baby. Now she could see it, now she could see it all. The fruits of love and care, sprung from her brother's love and protectiveness for her. The love, concern and care she had seen in his eyes, but ignored or overlooked. The love she had convinced herself, in malice, envy, a lust for power, was the insecurity and envy of the thought of having his sister surpass him, when she knew, in fact, that Rhaegar wouldn't give a troll's spit for that.

And she was evil- as cruel, worthless and a heartless, callous and unfeeling yet stupid a person that ever lived- no more.

What made her convince herself that Tom loved her? Or did she even care, and stopped to think whether or not she, let alone he, loved the other?

The word 'fool', was too soft and too kind for one so vile, as her.

* * *

Rhaegar marched back to his room and closed the door.

Thrusting the papers aside, he lay his wand on his bedside table.

There was someone on the bed. His wife. Her back was turned to him. She was asleep, or seemed to be.

Rhaegar sighed. His antagonistic feelings towards, well, everything seemed to ease at that instant. He walked silently to the bed. Unfastening his cloak, he draped it neatly over a chair, on the rug in front of the fire.

He walked silently, and carefully to the bed. _My love, _he thought suffusing himself completely with her presence, and tenderness.

Love rose in him completely. Rhaegar carefully went beneath the covers, and gently drew himself closer to her, careful not to disturb her.

"I'm not asleep, you might as well save yourself the bother," his wife's sleepy voice sounded amused.

Rhaegar chuckled. "Well, I suppose it's too much to hope for. My love. Oh, how I've missed you."

She turned to him.

"I've gone to rely and depend on you more than I can imagine nor dare to admit," he said. "I needed you- your presence, your reasoning, your way with words- everything, more than ever. And I need you desperately."

She looked at him straight in the eye. "What is it?"

He sighed. "You know, love."

"Your sister." She said tonelessly.

"Yes," Rhaegar admitted.

"She's to become a mother now," his wife mused. "Is she being taken care of? Is she taking good care of herself?"

"I wouldn't know." Rhaegar scoffed. "She's locked herself up in her room, with no one but her snake and her unborn child for company."

Concerned, her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together, as she pulled herself slightly upright to a sitting position.

"Rhaegar, go to her." She ordered. "Convince her to snap out of her state and start a new life- it won't be easy, but she's got a _child_ to think about now. She has to think about the future."

He scoffed. "You make it sound that easy. She's barred the whole room with magic. No one is allowed in or out, except when she allows herself in or out, and even then she's careful to avoid anyone. She's even sound-proofed the whole room."

"And you can break it," his wife insisted. "Why will you not see her? Why are you being so adamant that she will break out of her state by herself?" Her voice became gentler and tender. "Is it because you are still hurt by her?"

Rhaegar didn't respond to that.

"I see," she said. "And yet… you can't tell her, or anyone how you feel, can you? It's not just about hunting _him_ down, it's about avoiding her as much as you can. But you can't say it, can you? You've fortified yourself so much, and you feel you have so much relying on you- and you're too proud to be humiliatingly embracing her and letting her off easy, even if you don't hate or even are still furious with her. Besides, you don't know, or want, her to throw away what you give her to the dirt. You're not sure about her, or what returned to you."

Rhaegar still said nothing.

"So you need time," she continued. "Very well. So does her. But she needs you too, Rhaegar. More than anyone, her _infant_ needs you. He or she will never even know the father's name, I have a feeling on that. And therefore, it is not needed to mention the fact that he or she will never meet the father if we are lucky, and will be in constant danger of meeting him through their entire lives. And who is the one person who can guide the child to the right path, and keep them safe from that? You."

Rhaegar closed his eyes. She was right. And always, she could see right through his heart and soul.

"Everything is up to you," she said quietly. "But you don't have to go with it just yet. You're more important than you know, or have been made to believe, and it isn't just about being a soldier and a commander, or even a leader. Even if others doubt it, don't you ever doubt or question it."

* * *

Athelinda stared up at the ceiling still. Surasa curled up next to her underneath the covers, curled protectively near her belly.

Did she love him?

No, how could she have been as vile and stupid as to marry him then?

No, she never loved him. She was intrigued by him and his difference to others, and similarity to herself. She was flattered, and she felt empathy, even sympathy for his character. The poor, but gifted, brilliant and hard-working boy with big dreams and goals, with enough ambition which drove him to excel and dream of building a new world. A dream he allowed her to glimpse a shining peep out of his imagination. So enthralled, so aroused and excited by this vision was, she that Tom practically shone and glittered in her eyes. Flawless. Perfect. Excitingly intriguing, but purposeful. He gave her purpose. And that was what drove her to him- him and his supposed light, which masked great shadow.

His charisma and persuasive intelligence led her to convince her to believe in him, in his vision- without even sharing the whole picture. She also felt sympathy, not just empathy, amazement and awe directed at him. She felt he needed her. And that in turn, gave her feelings towards him. But not love. She was attracted to him because of that. That was his winning quality which ensnared her. She felt he needed her, and that they could be happy together.

And why not? He was attractive, intelligent, knowing, not unambitious- anything anyone could ask for, except for genuine.

That he never had.

And so, Athelinda, realised just how duped she was, and more and more what kind of person she was, slowly becoming aware of the effects, her life and decisions had for everyone.

Her family. Her father and mother who both loved for and cared for her more than anything, like all their children. The brother who loved, taught and strove to shelter her from harm, no matter what, and would have taken the any blow for her, even the worst, and died for her ever since she was small. the other brother who soothed her and kept the peace, and strove to be a voice of reason and guidance for her own sake rather than his, whose love and care were overlooked to the point of being completely unnoticed by everyone, whose selflessness, concern and loyalty was unknown. That was the two of them in fact- well, all of them. Her sister who worshipped and looked up to her in awe, and trusted her to teach her, to guide and show her to the right path. The sister that would have gone across the whole world to fetch her any blade of grass she wanted. The House-elf who adored, cared for, nurtured, and raised her, as if she were her own child.

They expected nothing in return. And what did she do?

What if she lost her child? That was the last thing she wanted. Now she saw, this child was the one good thing about her life, the one thing she had not messed up- or had yet to mess up- yet it was nothing less than she deserved. This child deserved better than her. And look what she had done to his own life and future!

Brought him into a world with such a sire whom he will never even know, decided upon impulse his own future, and brought the burden of destiny crashing down upon his shoulders before he was even born. She did not have the right! She would have been incensed if her parents did the same thing- her son did not ask for this! And yet she, hypocritically, and on impulse, brought it down onto him, just to prove her point!

If he hated her, she would understand. If he loathed and shunned her from his life, it was no less than she deserved. Even if he was the one good thing she had done. The one thing she had had left.

She had gambled. And she had truly lost everything.

* * *

Rhaegar steeled himself. He needed to go.

It was time.

Holding out his hand, he uttered an incantation within his mind, and the door blasted open.

It wasn't that violent or loud a blast- he couldn't forget she was with child.

But he needed to speak to her. And to speak to her now.

Athelinda stirred feebly on the bed. Surasa reared and hissed, menacingly but was confused when she saw him.

"Athelinda," his eyes narrowed, and his voice was like steel.

"Get up!"

His sister slowly stirred.

"You can lie and vanish into oblivion, and forsake your own offspring who needs you even more now, or you can get up and face the problems and solve them."

"Nothing can solve them," Athelinda mumbled.

Rhaegar gave a harsh laugh. "Your state of mind is not an improvement, I see. I won't lie to you- but after what you have done, I would feel it was your responsibility to do something about this mess and protect your child, rather than vanish and allow your mistakes to fester and worsen. You do nothing for yourself, or for the child who needs you, and he needs you now. Do you want your child to grow up like his father?" He demanded.

Athelinda jolted upright. "Of course not!"

"Then get up!" He barked. "Or else he would be as motherless and fatherless as his sire. You wish to give up, Athelinda? Maybe you have to explain to your child what you have done later on, but at least you won't have to explain why you so pathetically gave up and did not even attempt to make things right! You owe him an explanation- and a life, Athelinda. Forget us. You owe it to him or her, to build a _good _life. A happy childhood. You owe it to the child, and you owe your own child a responsibility, just as we had to you. If you want to redeem yourself, you had better start there, and now. Or else there is no hope- not for you- but for him or her. And he or she will wander into the path of the forsaken father."

Rhaegar strode away. He mended the door, but left it open. "The choice is yours- to build him or her a good life, as good a life as you can- remember, no matter what you said, it hasn't even started yet- or to allow the child to fall into the same fate as the father. Now get on with it." He strode away.

* * *

Yes, she had told him. She told him about the awful fate she had given her son, and that ultimately made her go into despair. She had wrecked his future, just as she had destroyed hers. But what if he could survive? She wondered. Survive because she taught him to, not become like his heartless father and go the same way?

But who was she to teach anyone anything? Hadn't she forfeited that right?

And yet… There was no going back now. She couldn't revert the destiny she had decided. But she could try to make amends and her son would be better off than without nothing. As Rhaegar said, she owed it to her boy. To them all.

And to give up would be the worse decision she had yet to make. Even worse than following Tom Riddle.

Her responsibility. Her choice. His life. A happy childhood.

Yes, she owed him that. She owed them all that.

Athelinda pulled herself up, and walked out of the room, followed by Surasa, trailing after her.

* * *

_November 8__th__ 1949…_

"It's too early!" Katerina snapped at the midwife. "No, it's time." Athelinda groaned rubbing her belly.

Her mother hauled her to the room, and stroked her back. Ordering pain-relieving potion, Blood-replenishing potion and what else, she also asked for pumpkin juice. Groaning Athelinda, leaned against the wall. The contractions were coming harder than ever.

"It's coming," she said. And like the force of a great river, or a great storm, nothing could stop it. To stop him from making his entrance and his mark on the world.

Her mother pulled her upright, and Winny helped.

"Philomena, get out of here!" Her mother barked. "This is not something you should see."

Sulking, her sister stormed off. Athelinda did not even notice it, her vision shone red but there was a powerful force at work here, she knew it now.

She pulled herself together and made it to the room.

It was only when she put her mind to it that it truly began.

A baby's cry resounded throughout the room. A roar, more like, or a howl. Her mother lifted a howling infant boy from Athelinda, and then with a shining face, went to cut the cord, bathe, clout and swaddle her new grandson before blessing him and giving him to her daughter.

This was the most awesome thing she had ever seen. The most precious gift she had ever been given. Nothing else. She needed nothing else. Only this one pure, shining light in the universe- her beacon. Her shining light.

Her hopes and dreams. He shone, he truly did, with all the awe, riches and wonders of the universe. Nothing else seemed to matter or exist, save for him. This most amazing miracle, was the most wonderful, the best and greatest piece of magic she had ever created. She needed nothing more, and she will do nothing more, save for him. And for him alone.

Now she knew. The amount of love one can have for a child. The amount of love, and joy she had for him, was what her parents had for her. Now she knew.

This was what love was. True love. She did not need Tom Riddle. She never needed him, and neither did this boy.

Rhaegar entered the room. She handed him to her mother. Athelinda's face was flushed from the labour, but she was fresh and radiant. The infant cooed.

Her mother went to show and hand him the boy.

"A successful delivery," she said. "A strong, healthy boy."

Rhaegar took him gently and carefully. "What will you call him?"

"His name is Sigurd," his mother said. Rhaegar looked up.  
"A fine name," he said. "And he will be remembered as Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye," she said.

Her mother laughed. "Snake-in-the-Eye? Why would he be called-" She then broke off and gave a loud gasp.

The baby, pale as milk, with a mop of black hair, but when his eyes opened, instead of the black of his mother- and father- they were silvery-green. The left had an ordinary pupil, but within the right eye, curled a snake, black as pitch.

This boy would leave his mark on the world.

His mark on the pages of destiny.

* * *

_**A short chapter compared to the rest I've done! And as for the baby's name and eye, yes I took inspiration from Viking Sagas and from the History Channel series, but this one is different- and besides in the Harry Potter series, in the books and other canonical stuff, there are various names of famous persons, like Dzou Yen- the Chinese Mystic- Nicolas Flamel- a famous alchemist who really lived- and other historical characters- with similarities, names or based on real-life persons who became witches and wizards (or squibs). But don't get me wrong! I don't own anything- everything is all J.K Rowling, save for my canon family, and a few friends! **_


	16. Chapter 16

Epilogue

* * *

"_**Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness."**_

_**Desmond Tutu**_

"_**Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for."**_

_**Joseph Addison**_

* * *

The Serpent Lady stared at the horizon. The sun was rising.

Athelinda slowly turned back to her eldest brother, and her second older brother.

In her arms was a peacefully sleeping baby boy, with a mop of liquid black hair and pale skin, like hers- and the father that can never be named.

"You know what I have to do," she said. "I'm not running away. But we have to live- for my son's sake."

Rhaegar nodded. He understood. Willamar felt the same way, she sensed his understanding.

"You'll see me, often." She said.

Rhaegar nodded again. "Where will you go?" He asked her. "What will you do?"

Athelinda sighed and turned back towards the horizon.

"First, I'll have to keep him safe." She said. "Help him grow to be better than I was, and to teach and love him so he would never be like _him_. Second, I'll have to spend a great deal of time, a lifetime even, to atone for my mistakes and bring his dark vision crashing down. I don't know where to start, but I have an idea." She paused for a while. "He has many pure-blood followers, it would seem."

"As you say," Willamar finally spoke. He ran his fingers through his hair. "What shall you do?"

"First, I have to find a weak link," Athelinda said. "Just because they have been raised to uphold their family's ideals, does not mean the reality will be less horrifying to those who actually do have some hidden honour inside. And once I get inside, I'll have to find his _thing_. And destroy it, before he destroys the future. I'll turn my regrets into my greatest weapons, and lie in hiding, like a snake, waiting for it's prey to go near, before I strike- when my son is old enough to survive without me- not that I plan on giving up my life so easily. There are many things that need to be done."

Rhaegar nodded. Athelinda looked at her brothers with pain and longing. Her little sister watched as well, not too far away.

"I love you," she whispered. "I'll miss you. More than you know. I always have, and I always will. I'll come back, but not just yet. Not yet. For all of you, and for my son- For Sigurd."

Athelinda looked once more at the horizon. The boy's silvery-green eyes opened. He looked at her, as if he knew and understood everything and he approved. The eyes were so clear, like shallow, filtered sea-water touched by sunlight, or a jewel or coloured crystal lit from behind, and yet seemed to have a misty dream-like quality to it. One pupil was small and round. The other was long and winding, stirring like a snake waking and easing towards the warmth of the sun.

* * *

_**First off, I can say that Lady of Serpents was, by far, **_**NOT _the best fanfiction I have written, but I wrote it for a purpose. The purpose being sequels. I can promise the next part of the series will be better than this- by far. If not, then you have permission to send me a PM and say that I suck! Just this once! The sequel is called Roaring Dragon. It involves the same family, but I'm not giving any details. Sigurd will make his mark eventually- not that I'm giving any spoilers. For those who bore with this, thank you. I'm just so sorry it was so crap. _**

**Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter, the canon characters of Tom Riddle, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Dippet, Merrythought, Slughorn and Alpahrd Black. I only own their family here, and most of their friends. _**

**Edit- 26/09/2015:_ I admit, the reason I thought this was crap was because so few seemed to like it, compared to my Lord of the Rings fanfic. _**

**_The Sequel is up- _Roaring Dragon._ It will feature the same family beginning in the 1950s._**


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